#honestly was torn about the roses on the gate

[everwisp]

Mr. Rose, I don't suppose

You'd want to break a rule or two tonight?

i. | ii.

[thedarklingxalina]

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength. 

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you. 

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do. 

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.  

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel. 

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution. 

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through. 

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within. 

This place was a death trap. 

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked. 

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep. 

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion. 

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil. 

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again. 

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea. 

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.  

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that. 

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive. 

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday? 

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line. 

Alina... don't... Atla... away- 

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you? 

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself. 

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall. 

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back. 

Alina snapped some photos. 

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back. 

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag. 

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene? 

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over? 

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in. 

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. 

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids. 

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.) 

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new. 

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point. 

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her. 

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy? 

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another- 

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind. 

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad. 

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone. 

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea. 

Alina tried not to shiver. 

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands. 

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad. 

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment. 

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin. 

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from." 

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps? 

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said. 

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her. 

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off. 

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!" 

"She's bluffing." 

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?" 

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that. 

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-" 

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings? 

"I don't know anything about-" 

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled. 

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer. 

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun. 

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear. 

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked. 

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead. 

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all... 

The man inhales sharply. 

The heartrender knocked her out again. 

[thebeautyofdisorder]

Dangerous Game ~ BBC Dracula, Gate Scene AU

@festering-queen Requested a “what if” scenario if Agatha stepped over the line a bit during the convent gate sequence, and Dracula was able to get his hands on her. This could have gone MANY different ways, and the first couple days of thinking about this were literally just me debating the many options I had on my hands, but this is what I settled on - hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: blood, threat of death, vampirism, nudity, you know - everything that applies normally to Drac

Word Count: 3,118

It happened in an instant, far quicker than she could react. For all his snarling and threats, Agatha had the vampire keening like a starving pup - helpless, angry, feral with hunger as her hand outstretched in an offering of her blood to his seeking tongue. She observed him with sudden calm appreciation as his eyelids hung heavy, feeling a fleeting swell of power that she nearly got to appreciate, even. But just as her grip lessened on the handle of the knife, prepared to drop it and back away and cease to taunt the beast while she was ahead of the game, those blackened eyes shot open and met hers with such mocking clarity that it halted her in her tracks, the triumph in her eyes faltering into sudden, heart-stopping dread. 

It was too late, then. Agatha was too close, she’d known it, and had trusted that in his blind desperation for sustenance that the Count wouldn’t take note. She had been very wrong. Without so much as a growl, his hand shot out and grabbed for the knife and her hand all in one grip of his gigantic fist, yanking her over the ephemeral threshold, her feet barely skimming the ground with no chance of catching traction. 

The screams and gasps from her sisters rose up behind her in chorus of panic, but even in all that chaos for a fraction of a second Dracula didn’t even acknowledge that he’d gotten the nun into his clutches, too occupied in using her hand as a vehicle to better press the sharpened steel to his tongue, licking it clean. It was only when she stepped back towards the “safety” of the iron gate and tried to yank herself free did she feel more than hear him chuckle in dark, mocking glee, and a gasp was torn from her throat, her world spinning as he pulled her into his grasp. Her back might as well have hit stone for all his bloodied chest gave on the impact that she felt rattle her own bones, both her upper arms suddenly constrained in a bruising grip. The knife lying useless on the ground near her feet, Agatha found herself forced to watch her sisters cower in terror and worse - look on her in pity.

“It seems fortune doesn’t always favor the brave, does it Sister?” He leered from behind and above her, grinning down at her in a manner that might have passed for charming had his teeth not been forged into sharp, jagged points. His breath smelled coppery and disturbingly sweet, and cringe from it though she did, for a strange, mad moment she almost wanted to ask him about it, before remembering that there were definitely more important things to worry about at the moment than understanding the vampiric anatomy. Currently the fact that she was forced very snugly against said anatomy and was probably about to die a very painful death for the luxury. 

His focus left her quickly though, watching over her shoulder as the Mother Superior tried to force a brave face, her short frame standing in front of the gaggle of girls as though she could actually forge a barrier between them and danger. All but her.

“Well? What’re you waiting for, ladies? Your sister’s been captured, you’re all ‘armed and ready.’ You outnumber me, clearly.”

“Honestly, they’re nuns not idiots,” Agatha scoffed at him, before addressing them directly - just in case, seeing some of them start to stir antsily. “Stay back!” 

“Come now. Not even one of you? What righteous warriors you make,” he continued to mock with disappointed laughter, laying out his lure as Agatha watched helplessly as her anxious sisters looked more unsure by the moment. 

“Isn’t that what that god of yours is always going on about - self-sacrifice for the greater good, defending the helpless, blah blah...blah. You are knights, you have your swords, the frightened princess is seconds away from being eaten…”

“Oh please,” Agatha mocked, turning her head to glance between his self-satisfied smirk and the faces of her friends in frank disbelief.

“Who’s going to slay the dragon?” Dracula challenged in that melodious whisper, tightening his hold on her visibly, causing her to hiss as what could only be described as claws began to dig into her flesh through the thin fabric of her habit. 

“Do not rise to his bait - he’s only trying to lure you out,” their matron, having gathered her wits, echoed her earlier sentiments, but with the authority to actually enforce them, and despite the sinking feeling in her gut, Agatha looked at her with genuine thanks as the girls began to slink back. She would not be the reason for their deaths, and that at least she could make peace with.

“Give it up, dragon - I’m the only nun you’re getting out of there tonight, so just kill me and get it over with,” she exclaimed stubbornly, turning her head to look up at him where he still stood behind her, watching the sisters retract with an exaggerated pout.

He laughed, throaty and low, turning her in his grasp to look her in the eye.

“Oh no one likes a martyr, Agatha - isn’t it?” he purred, and her eyes widened a margin at hearing her name on his lips.

“So you heard,” she persisted, squaring her jaw, not falling for any more of his intimidation tactics. How much worse could her circumstances really get, anyway? 

She was armed, as well, to be fair. The wooden stake was in her pocket, and if he would just not grip her arms so tightly, she might have been able to put up some kind of fight - but as though he genuinely could read her mind, his grip on her left arm tightened to the point of bruising while his hold on her right turned feather light and faltered as he shifted his hold from her upper arm to her wrist, pulling her palm up to his mouth. 

She had entirely forgotten she was still bleeding, but clearly the vampire had not, and the split flesh gave a sudden throb at the reminder, just before she felt him drag his tongue over the seeping wound, a hum of pleasure that was nothing short of obscene reverberating against her hand. She hissed, her fingers flinching in fruitless effort against his hold, though the sensation wasn’t exactly pain, even if it wasn’t far from it. It was a bizarre tingling that made her squirm, though there wasn’t anywhere to go. She cursed him under her breath in her native tongue and she was surprised to hear him chuckle, drawing back from her hand though he still held it aloft, never far from his lips.

“Ooh. You’re really not very good at this nun thing, are you, Agatha?” He asked mockingly, before looking up at the stars thoughtfully and licking his lips, her eyes drawn to watch his throat work and swallow in the firelight.  

“Agatha Van Helsing where in the world did you come from?”

“You seem to know everything else, why don’t you tell me?” She shot back bitterly, fighting off the panic in her voice. So that’s all it took, a few drops of blood and her inner workings were laid bare to his prying eyes? Frightening, sure, but mostly infuriating. 

“Holland, right?”

She glanced sideways at her sisters for a fleeting moment, and gave a nod to Mother Superior, hoping she would take his pre-occupation as a sign to begin to bring the other girls to safety, but she didn’t dare let her focus stray from the vampire long enough to watch.

“As I’m sure you heard in my accent. I know detectives that could volunteer twice that information in half the time. Surely you can tell me something more interesting than that.”

“Are you challenging me, Sister Agatha?” He asked, though despite the hint of a growl that still lingered in his voice, he looked wholly entertained by her open defiance despite the fact he could have killed her already. “You do enjoy dangerous games - you must be bored to tears in this place.”

“As though you don’t enjoy showing off,” she challenged dryly, looking him over with clear accusation, though her eyes didn’t stray past his chest before retreating upwards once more. “Come on. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Agatha watched as he took a moment to process what she could only assume were her own memories, seeing multiple small reactions flit over his features. She should've rightly tried to use this distraction to her advantage, feeling his grip on her lessen a hair - but she knew deep down it would just end in a quicker death for her in the end. She still wasn't sure if that would be her best option. 

Surely it was the most Catholic choice she could make - but if she were going to sacrifice herself "for the greater good" as he had so quaintly put it, now was not the time. Not when she could learn more, and not when she was so sure to fail any attempt she could make to destroy him or even save herself. 

Count Dracula's mouth suddenly broke into a wicked grin, ripping her from her thoughts. Not a good sign. 

"And? Still waiting." She pressed, impatiently. 

"Well, if it makes you feel better Agatha, your "training" might do your sisters some good after all," he stated musingly, watching a few of them retreat back within the walls of the convent, clearly unconcerned now with slowly but surely losing his audience. 

"And why is that?'

His brows rose as he looked down at her almost fondly. 

"Well, you left undead Johnny in the same room as his bleeding fiance, of course. I can't imagine his appetite taking long to surface. If you think I'm a fright when I'm hungry…"

Agatha had to fight back the urge curse again, if only because it would entertain him too greatly. Stupid stupid stupid…

"Jonathan Harker would sooner stake himself than harm Mina, you know that. Apparently it's all that moralistic willpower that made you so fond of him in the first place," Agatha dismissed him stubbornly. 

The Count sighed, looking over her head towards the upper level of the nunnery. 

"Mm. Truer words never spoken, I'm afraid - it'll distract him for a little while I suppose."

"What do you mean? Surely dying twice is enough," She asked, no longer hiding her concern. 

"Curious little thing, aren't you?" He mused, almost inwardly, using his hold on her to drag her further back from the gate, so they were standing far out of earshot from the other nuns and they could see the flickering light in the window where Agatha had last abandoned his 'bride'. He held her fast against him with one long arm while he pointed up at the window. She might’ve seen a shadow pass just below her eyeline, but she couldn’t be sure.

"He tried. And failed. The undead cannot commit suicide. Call it a curse, if you will. He'll be out for a little while, definitely wish he were dead, but unless little Mina drives the stake in herself, he will wake up and when he does...he will be weak and he will be hungry. Now if you trained your troops well enough, maybe they'll be prepared…"

His head tilted, studying her face, which she was sure was full of many things for him to appraise, hating herself for it but far too distracted by her own thoughts to mask them. If she didn’t know better, his smirk almost retained a hint of pity.

“Or perhaps Johnny will surprise us both, he is a lively one. Now - “ he immediately led off from his passive attempt at comfort, turning her in his grasp so quickly, Agatha wondered if he was really so unaware of his own power or if he was still delighting in showing it off to her alone.

“I would ask you to invite me in, but we both know very well even if I promise not to slaughter your family that you won’t. Even if it means a rabid infantile vampire may tear a few of them limb from limb, you are far too stubborn to ever do anything that I ask of you, nor would you believe any promises I make,” the vampire began, sizing her up seemingly as he spoke with a chuckle as mocking as it was appreciative. 

“Who would?”

“And threatening your inevitable death will get me nowhere, you religious types are always far too keen to sacrifice yourselves.”

“Trust me, Count Dracula, in comparison to hearing you babble nonsense for another half hour, it would hardly be a sacrifice,” Agatha spat out before she could help it, fruitlessly trying to create some distance between them despite his grip on her - she about cursed herself once more, but apparently instead of angering him, all she’d done is amuse him again. 

He’d let out a surprised laugh, melodious and loud, so she was sure the others would’ve heard it from downwind. Wonderful, now if she ever did get back (unlikely) she’d have ‘consorting with the devil’ to deal with - more than usual.

“Agatha Van Helsing, what am I going to do with you?” He breathed, and she realized with mounting dread that he really didn’t even know himself. 

“Honestly, you didn’t even have a plan when you showed up here, did you?” She couldn’t help but ask, furrowing her brows. Why was he so calm?  

“I typically don’t need one, but it seems you wanted to make it difficult for me,” he stated softly, the accusation clear in his eyes, though it was almost playful in nature now. 

Without the growling, bestial thing that had met her at the gate, she was just being held by a bloody, naked aristocrat staring down at her with a fondness that was completely foreign, and she found herself more disturbed by his approval than his threats. Those she had expected, this...she wasn’t sure how to navigate. 

“Do you think your sisters would be so brave without you? Should I find out?”

Even seeing that he was baiting her, Agatha knew there was literally nothing stopping him. He could kill her now, just to get her out of the way. Probably preferable, because otherwise he could just disable her. Knock her unconscious, break her leg, rip out of her tongue - whatever would stop her from stopping him. And the sad truth was that she didn’t know. Most of those girls were young, helpless things, just there for intimidation in numbers. They would crumple in the face of genuine threat, no matter how strong their belief or their wills. 

“Leave them alone, and I will come with you willingly.”

“Who says I want you to?” He returned too quickly, his face a mask of indifference, though the curiosity twinkling in his eyes was a dead give away to his intention. He just wanted to see how she would respond. To see if she would show desperation, or weakness. He was toying with her, just like she had toyed with him. God help her, for her sisters’ sake, she was going to have to let him. For now. 

“You have a long way to travel, Count Dracula. And while I’m sure you can manipulate Jonathan into doing whatever you like, having a half-crazed ‘infantile vampire’ in your charge for a long voyage would only draw attention to you and fail to provide you any sustenance. Besides, no one in there would be any use to you. Most of them have spent their entire existence locked within those walls. Their lives are hymns and prayers and chores and guilt and nothing else whatsoever. Take me and you might actually learn something.”

“Perhaps. But you would also try to kill me the first chance you get,” he accused in a whisper, that hint of wicked amusement still never leaving his voice. Apparently attempted murder was a novelty to for him.

“Are you saying that actually frightens you?” She accused, quirking an eyebrow, turning his challenge back on him.

“Careful,” Dracula warned, eyes narrowing as his grip on her tightened a hair, apparently capping his amusement at being called a coward, though he didn't disagree directly - information she decided to retain for later. If she would see later. 

He was silent for a long moment, enough to begin to worry her that he'd refuse her entirely. But slowly his lips twisted up into a satisfied, if resigned smirk, taking one last look up into that window before returning his focus to her fully. 

"You drive a hard bargain, Van Helsing, but I suppose you do have a point. The devout do always leave a bit of an...aftertaste." 

He let loose one of her arms, at least, though immediately reached up and pulled at the ties of the white fabric that was serving its purpose, blocking her throat from his view, yanking it and her wimple from her head in one swift motion, that pulled at her hair and made her yelp slightly. His lips twitched, but he seemed to choose not to acknowledge it. 

“But you nuns tend to draw a lot of attention in your own right, especially while unconscious…”

“I’m sorry?” she clarified irritably, still narrowing her eyes as she used her free hand to push her hair from her face. She considered using it to slap him with instead, but considering she would likely just end up with a broken hand for her trouble, she resisted the urge.

“Oh, I’m not going to have you straggling along behind me out in the mountains, Agatha, that would be positively uncouth. You understand…” he drawled, his gaze having dropped from her eyes and now locked onto the column of her throat with that same heavy-lidded intensity she saw at the gates. Feeling his large hand tracing her collarbone, she swallowed, forcing herself to be still as he loomed over her, now even more so than before it seemed. 

“How kind of you,” she snarked, though her words were no longer registering to him at all, and she watched in the lantern light as his eyes clouded with red once more, and those long, cold fingers curled around the base of her neck, making her shiver.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to make you last,” he assured her with finality, that bestial snarl thickening his voice once again, and the last thing she felt before sinking into a hazy sleep was the sting of sharp teeth sinking into her flesh, followed by that same tingling she’d felt earlier, until she felt nothing at all. 

------

I’m just going to tag all the people I normally tag when I make Dracula stuff, or anyone I think MIGHT want to see it based on your interests, feel free to ignore me if you’re disinterested. 

@hoefordarkness @allis143 @punk-courtesan @dracula-s-bride @charlesdances @chrsitophwaltz @vlladtepes @bellamortislife @fuukonomiko @serindiyoza @alma37 @profiler-in-courage @lamourcommecesttoujour @hyacinth-meadow @guardianbelle @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @claesbang @undead-notunreasonable @bangtheking @vissidarte213 @mood-adlock @onyxthevampire @the-sign-of-tea @feralstare @leah-halliwell92 @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @girlonfireice @chelsfic @imagineandimagine @the-last-legs-last-leg @moonwalkerkari @river-soul @drsherlockmoffat @dwacuwa-is-baby @mysticaltimemachinewench @hopipollahorror @beyond-antares @bloodspatteredprincess @pullthedamnlever @ss9slb @gatissed  @mitsukatsu @le-fay-87 @flyingleapdisco @desperatefrenchwriter @crowley-needs-a-hug @crazytxgradstudent @garlicbreakfast @kandomeresbitch

Okay, if I didn’t tag you it’s just because I got tired of scrolling my notes before I reached you, haaa. My bad. Or tumblr won’t allow me to tag you for some reason.

[stardancerluv]

Brother’s Keeper

Part 3

Summary: Things can’t stay like this...while things become more apparent...

Note: last 2 time jumps...final age Reader 25, Branden 35.

2 years later

Brendan, ran his fingers through his hair as he contemplated his next move. JR was good but he was no Michael.

A smirked curled his lips. “Check mate.”

“Damn, how did you do that?” The kid complained.

He shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, I’ve been playing for much longer.”

He sighed annoyed. “I’m going to go jog a lap around the yard before I have to head back to the D block.”

Sterlo chuckled. “He has a lot of growing up to do.”

“Yeah.” Brendan slouched down in his seat with a sigh. A gentle breeze blew through the yard. His mind wandered, suddenly he remembered how one day, he had come over. Michael wasn’t back yet from the store and had caught you dancing to some song. Your hair flying, you were smiling. You had flushed when you had seen him standing there.

Damn, he would love to make you flush again. Though, now he imagined you now, a damn flower in bloom. The gentle wave in your hair, curvy hips, he could feel as your fingers tips were just barely grazing his goatee.

“Brendan?”

He startled awake. “Oh damn.” He sat up. “I’m not even tired.”

Sterlo, rolled his eyes. “You’re getting old Brendan.”

He reached over and pushed him. “I’m getting fucking soft.”

“Alright, maybe that.”

Brendan, sighed and pressed his lips together. He was getting soft cooped up in here. Sure he used the weights. But this was not good, he needed more of an edge.

Though what lingered, he was trying to ignore, it but the knot that formed in his gut as he dreamed of you dancing. You were nearing his age when he got locked in here.

“Brendan, a letter.”

“Thanks.” He was grateful, that now a decent person was in charge of the mail. He didn’t have to play games to get his mail delivered. Looking, down he tried to keep his face impassive as his heart picked up speed.

******

He was sitting on the chair, he looked good as he sipped away at his beer. You went over and straddled his lap. “What are you doing little blossom?” His voice was as raspy as it had ever always been.

“Giving you a proper welcome home.” You ran your fingers through his dark auburn hair as blue eyes shone looking at you.

A smirked curled his lips. “Oh? Are you?”

You drew close, your lips met his, they were cool from the beer.

Your phone rang to life and you gasped waking suddenly. Looking around your dream faded away. Grabbing your phone, you saw that it was Sam, your boss calling. Eyeing the time you grumbled. You had only left the bar a handful of hours ago.

“Hello Sam.” You said sweetly.

*****

Sitting at his small table, he carefully opened the envelope. Two small photos fell into his lap.

Your hair, your smile he just stared. The knot that formed in the pit of his stomach came back. The next one you where you looking off was beautiful. He wanted to run his hands through those soft strands. He shook. Putting the photos down, he opened the letter. He tried to push those feelings aside they were ridiculous.

Brendan,

I am done! Single again! Men are annoying. Why can’t I find one who will love and respect me?

What did that last one do? I’d take care of you. He dropped the letter. What the fuck, was he thinking. He couldn’t feed these thoughts. He did want to take care of you. But you didn’t need an old man like him.

Despite feeling incredibly torn, the idea of taking care of you brought a kind of lightness, it made him feel good. And none of this was because of the promise he made to your brother.

I’m sorry I shouldn’t be whining. This last one was just horrible. He was jealous. He didn’t like me working at the bar. In one of our arguments, he had the nerve to slap me. Well, you don’t slap me and get away with it. He’s gone!

Y/N, he thought to himself if I had been there, that guy is bloody lucky I’m not. He may be missing a hand.

But how are you? How is that kid, he’s not kist some punk is he? Does he know any of the tricks, Michael would try to pull on you.

The kid is alright. He’s not a huge pain in the ass. Though, he is no Michael. At least the games are alright.

My boss told me today that I was one of the best girls on his staff. He gave me a raise. I certainly work hard for it. Though, I wish it was more established, refined place. I’d never tell him that.

I hate that you work there. Can’t you find something else? Well, at least he appreciates what he has in you.

Brendan, I know I said I would let it be. But I really wish I could visit you. I miss you. I think its not fair that murders get visitors and you don’t. Life is not fair.

♥️Yours always,

Y/N

*****

He folded the letter away with a sigh. Getting up, he pushed the buzzer and waited.

A guard walked up, looking as stern as ever.

“What do you want Lynch?”

“I want make a phone call.”

“Alright. Come on.”

******

The conversation was short and to the point. With the boy and Sterlo, he would finally get out.

Now the itch for freedom was planted. The day could not come soon enough.

*******

You were upset, the letters from Branden had been growing shorter lately. You leaned against the bar as you surveyed the place. It was still fairly busy for a Wednesday.

You desperately wanted a distraction. Perhaps, you could ask your boss for some days off.

*****

6 Months Later

Today was the day. He tucked away the photos you sent him on his person. They could do this. They were all going to get out of there.

Branden, nodded and the kid grabbed the one guard. It was the right one. Holding him they easily got through all the right gates. “There’s out escape.” Branden felt excitement rush through him when he saw the helicopter hovered before touching down in the yard.

Soon the helicopter touched down it was already kicking up all the dirt and dead grass.

“Let’s go.” He hollered over the noise.

They moved as a unit. They were not far from the helicopter. When suddenly one of the doors opened and a few of the guards grabbed Sterlo, a struggle ensued.

Branden ran over to the helicopter, he saw a familar face and smiled. He knew his friend Chris would pull through. He offered him a hand. He climbed in and grabbed a gun. “I need to get those guards off Sterlo and the kid.” He shouted.

He took aim and began shooting above the guards’ heads. With no hesitation, they released Sterlo, none of them wanted to die. Sterlo broke free and running, and together him and the kid made their way over. He had never seen either of them move that fast.

Once in the helicopter, it climbed higher and higher into the air. Yet, as it climbed and went further away, it wasn’t till the prison was far from sight did he finally begin to taste his freedom. But he craved more.

******

“Y/N, can you come over here?” Your boss had come out of his office and gestured for you to join him in his office. He took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling towards the celing blue blums of smoke drifting about him like a fog. You, had gotten used to it that you no longer coughed. Though it still turned your stomach.

“Yes, sir.”

He rose an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Much better.” He took another drag before continuing. “I am sending you home early today.”

Your mood brightened. “Oh, thank you!”

“I’m not done, then you can thank me.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

He gave you an easy smile. “It’s alright, I’ve always been fond of your enthusiasm.” You smiled. “Tomorrow, we are not opening. Some important, people are coming back into town and we are giving them a very warm welcome home.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” You caught yourself, so you gave him a shy smile.

“Right. Sorry, Sam.”

“So we are throwing a huge fucking party at my house. These are big guys. They worked hard, for a very longtime. They deserve to party hard. I want you to help with that.”

You gestured to yourself.

He nodded. “You better believe it.” He took out his money clip, that always looked close to breaking since the wad of cash was always too big. Opening it, he pulled off four hundred. Your eyes grew.

“This is for you my silly girl.”

He handed it to you. You put it down. “I could not possibly.”

“Actually, here take a little more.” He peeled off a couple more hundred. “Go to the spa and get a massage. Have your hair freshened up, maybe a manicure or whatever you girls do. I want you glowing and happy.”

“Sam?” It sounded amazing but what did you have to do in return.

Sam must have seen your concern because he got up and came around to you. “I want you to treat yourself better then when that guy got fresh with you.” He leaned against his desk as he looked at you. “Grab a dress and a bikini for tomorrow.” He laid the money beside your hand.

What could you possibly need a new bikini for, your concern continued to grow. “But Sam, how could I possibly?” You moved your hand away from the money.

One of his age worn hands, grabbed yours and squeezed. “You’re beautiful and delightful. Just be yourself. Dance with them, maybe have a few drinks. And if they want to take a dip in my pool, you will swim with them.”

“But..but Sam.” Unease was beginning to make you ill.

“I’m not asking you to sleep with them. I have other girls for that. Just make them smile, keep them happy.”

You relaxed. “I can do that.” You gave him a bright smile.

“Good, I know you could.” He smiled at you.

“I almost forgot, you should know, how grateful I am.”

“That’s a good girl. I know you would be.”

You finally took the money.

“Now remember have a few drinks, dance with them, even go swimming with them. But they want anything else and you politely introduce them to the other girls who I will be there.”

You honestly didn’t believe him. You should run, tell him to go fuck himself but you needed the money. One night and you could forget about it ever happening. Yes, you could forget.

“Thank you Sam.”

“You’re welcome. Now start now go, start having fun.”

You tucked money away. “What about my

tables?”

Sam smiled. “You’re such a good girl. Chloe can finish them up.

Tomorrow night would be interesting. This is something, you would never tell Brendan. He didn’t know how sometimes you sliced away at your soul, but you would never let it change your heart.

@mrskenobi19 @thebeckyjolene @sithonis @brookisbi @johallzy

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

End Game [Chapter Five] Tomorrow Never Knows [Levi Ackerman]

The dawn of the excursion beyond the walls inevitably came. It was being addressed by many as a milestone for the human race, but for one particular woman, it felt nothing short of a sendoff.

Camilla stared in a trance at the sun as it broke the horizon and rose into the clear sky. She had been like this for a while, resting on the edge of the tower, lost in her thoughts. Something was nagging at her; something she could only describe as a feeling of fear. It was not caused by the very thought of venturing into unfamiliar territory, but caused by something Hange mentioned to her the previous day.

There is an enemy among us.

Puzzled at first, Camilla didn’t think much of it. There were many people who opposed the force – such as the MP brigade – many who did not understand their methods. It was not until she read an unfinished segment in Hange’s notes, involving two test subjects that were killed, that she understood.

There is an enemy among us.

Someone in the corps had a wicked agenda. But who? Camilla had a feeling they were not yet done. This is why she desired to avoid the expedition; the timing was not coincidental.

But does that matter to Erwin?

The bright-eyed woman huffed an irritated sigh. She really despised his logic – sacrifice for the price of freedom. “No one can win without sacrificing.”

“What are you on about, you little shit?”

Camilla lurched forward in alarm. Once she realized Levi had snuck up on her, she aimed a glare at him. “Warn me next time.”

Levi stared at her firmly. “Keep your guard up. Don’t chose now to act like a shitty novice.”

Isn’t that what I am?

She had been off the field for too long. True, the refresher classes helped; they prepared her for what she’d be facing, but nothing could measure up to the real experience. She nodded in spite of this; he had a point.

“Shouldn’t you be at breakfast?” She turned her body to face him, smirking impishly. “It’s the most important meal of the day, you know? You’ll never get any bi––

He flicked her nose, interrupting her. “Knock it off with the short jokes.” Levi sat down beside her while she wiped the sudden tears from her eyes. “Anyway, you should eat lightly so you don’t puke up your guts again.”

That was one time, Camilla thought in disgust. She puckered her lip, but in any case, she was glad that he managed to distract her for a moment. Her recent thoughts were still nagging at her, but at least she wasn’t consumed by them any longer. Even so, there was something she wanted to ask Levi.

“It’s been a while, but are we going to exchange rings?”

Levi glanced at her. “Assumed you’d ask sooner.” Honestly, he came up to the tower because he thought he’d miss the chance to speak with her once the expedition began. He veered his eyes to the basic silver band around his finger and twisted it with his thumb. The idea to exchange rings was his – a practical way to keep Camilla attentive and calm while on the field. It seemed to work – they’d done it twice before – so the impassive man had no qualms about handing over his ring to her. She kept it closed up in her coat pocket, because like him, she wasn’t able to wear it on her finger.

“I’ll give it back once we return,” she mentioned.

“That’s the idea,” Levi replied. “Though it may be a while. It’s a few days ride to Shiganshina, and on top of that, Erwin has plans for us to drop off supplies to each of the two stations before we head straight there. You may not see much of me until then.”

Camilla nodded in agreement. “I’m fine with that – so long as I have the ring. Perhaps the trip won’t be so bad; sky looks clear of rain.”

Her optimism was noxious, in Levi’s opinion. Setbacks were bound to happen, and as much as Camilla wanted things to proceed according to plan, the likelihood of this happening was slim. He said nothing in opposition and sat quietly until the sun was towering above them. It was about that time; Erwin would be calling for saddle up soon. Levi glanced at his wife’s ring one last time before fastening it up in his beige coat, then pulled himself up onto his feet.

“Finish up here and get to the war room. Erwin should have our positions ready.”

Leaving her alone, Levi strode by the vice leader of the medical team on his way down the stairs. She hastily saluted him, balancing a tray of food in her left hand. Henderson, he recalled Camilla saying.

“Keep an eye on her,” he said. Motioning with his hand for her to continue on, he overheard her squeak in agreement.

Levi was doubtful.

--

“These our orders?”

Camilla gave a brief glance at Brendon, nodded to his question, then averted her eyes once again to the sheet of paper in her hand. It wasn’t an official posting, but the writing indeed came from Erwin’s hand. Strange he would write it this way.

This doesn’t tell me a lot. She huffed in annoyance and brought her attention back to her team. Each of them was huddled in front of the stable doors, eagerly waiting.

There were eleven members in total, excluding herself; four she already had the pleasure of meeting, and one she graduated with in the 87th.

“Listen up, because we’re going to be split into advanced relief teams for this mission,” she said loudly and forcefully. “The first squad will be stationed with relay; comprised mostly of the new recruits. The second will man the carts and guard the materials inside. Felde will head relay; Bergt, Koch, and Haas are with her. Tremaine is over carts with Helme, Wagner, and Ziegler. That leaves the third ART with me – Henderson, Lensing, and Neff.”

Camilla hesitated a moment; her next thoughts were private, but something she felt like she owed them. “Seeing as I won’t be with each of you … I ask that you don’t act recklessly out there. If a problem should arise, follow the LDES formation and listen to your squad leaders. I hope to see each of you at the first checkpoint, so if there are no questions, you are all dismissed to take your positions. Be safe.” She watched carefully as each of them dispersed into the stables, then followed closely behind.

For the mission, the Scouts were required to travel on horseback; the distance was too much on foot. Camilla was assigned a pinto-colored mare with ashen spots – he wasn’t given a name, for palpable reasons. He nickered softly as she rubbed his neck.

“Promise me.”

The dark-haired captain looked towards the sound of the voice, overhearing an exchange between Michella and Brendon. “Please. I just want to hear you say everything will be okay.” Camilla watched curiously as he softly touched the woman’s shoulder.

Michella shook her head. “You know I can’t do that; it’s naïve. We could both die out there, and I won’t give you hope by promising something out of my hands.”

“Then do me a favor and don’t be a hero. If it means putting your life on the line for someone else, then it’s not worth it.” He waited for her to reply, but when she didn’t, Brendon scoffed and walked away.

It’s not my concern.

Camilla huffed a sigh and took her mare by the reins, guiding him outside the stable. She knew better than to involve herself with something she had no knowledge of, but the fact she heard it made it harder to ignore.

Frankly, as a medic it wasn’t difficult to stay out of harm’s reach while on the field; judge a person’s chance of survival and save or leave them. This wasn’t heroic, but with so many scouts risking their lives, it was expected of a person wearing a red cross. She only hoped that Michella wouldn’t be thoughtless out there.

Burying her worries, Camilla mounted the mottled horse and got into formation. She was exceedingly surprised to be lumped together with Levi and his SO squad. Her thin brow puckered; she was almost certain she was in the wrong party until members of her own advanced squad moved into position beside her.

Directly behind Levi, she leaned forward and said in jest: “Couldn’t let me do this on my own, could you?”

Levi clearly heard her, but he didn’t turn around to acknowledge her. In doing so he missed the wide, gentle smile she gave him. Honestly, he was just as surprised to have her on his team as she was. It felt unwise to him, but Erwin had his reasons.

Noticing the formation move forward, Levi nudged his horse and followed. The ride was intended to take several hours – to reach the checkpoint in Trost – then an additional two days until the Scouts made their last stop. He gripped the reins around his horse until the leather bit into his skin and followed the ones in front of him. Honestly, the ride to Trost was calm and boring; he wasn’t too bothered by this. He listened to his team converse with the medical team, and even grunted as Eren asked Camilla questions too personal to his liking.

But once the Scouts reached the gates in Trost, the real danger became evident. His squad and the medical team went into focus and as the doors came open, they burst free of the walls and ventured into Doll territory at high speed, tearing at the ground in their wake.

There were Dolls scattered here and there. Camilla saw the smoke from their torn bodies in the corner of her eyes as her horse dashed through. Smoke signals alerted them of the abnormal ones, but nothing serious became of them. It was an easy ride; one she was not thankful for. Something was odd about it, but she put her worries aside and followed Levi closely until they reached the first check point, hours without a single incident or death.

A man-made wooden fence surrounded the tree line outside the Forest Base, extending too far for Camilla to see. They came to a stop at the main gate for a brief moment to speak with a guard, then steered their horses inside. Large shacks connected by bridges hung in the trees above them. It wasn’t much, but to someone like her; someone who lived on the ground behind walls of stone, the Forest Base was a miraculous sight to see.

She tied up her horse and began moving supplies into the base. A pulley system made carting heavy loads from the ground into the trees easy, and by the time the Scouts were done, the darkness of night had settled over them. Camilla and a few members of her team sat in front of a controlled fire and ate their dinner.

“I wish it were this easy all the time,” Michella mentioned.

Camilla hummed. “Me too. I am grateful for this moment of peace, but it won’t last.”

“I know,” Michella uttered. She stirred her spoon around the bowl in her hand and sighed. “I never wanted to be a Scout; I was content living as an ignorant civilian behind the safety of the walls, ignoring the dangers of the outside world.”

She smiled gently at Camilla. “But the peace didn’t last. Once Shiganshina fell, homeless civilians flooded my hometown and food became harder to buy. We farmed the land, but one bad harvest set us back. People were starving and I had no choice but to do something in order to stay alive.”

“You joined up with the Scouts?”

Michella nodded in agreement. “I did. It was Brendon who coerced me into becoming a Scout. I had no experience in fighting, but I was a decent medic. He thought I’d do some good outside the walls; I wanted to take back what was rightfully ours, so no one would ever have to suffer again.”

“He was right,” Camilla mentioned. “You are a good medic. No one makes vice without some form of experience.”

She laughed, face turning red. “I have you to thank for that, somewhat. Captain Angert made me a vice once you left. He was your vice I heard.”

“He was,” Camilla confirmed.

She heard that Angert died some years back on the field. He was headstrong; a man who often jumped before thinking. Erna Neff – a medic and fellow graduate of hers – and he were close friends.

When he died, Erna blamed Camilla for abandoning them. She was right to be mad. It was because of her that he died; because she forced Angert to take the role of Captain when he wasn’t ready. Erna wrote her a letter explaining this and once she returned, meeting her eye to eye was not an easy task. In a way, Camilla was happy about this. She didn’t want Erna to forgive her; she wanted to earn back her trust.

If she could.

Camilla was exhausted. She knew that Michella meant no harm, but her past weighed heavy on her mind. It was not hard to ignore at times; the mistake that got her teammate killed. She said her good nights and returned to her tent, where a temporary bed was made for her. Lying down, she rested her eyes and listened to the Scouts converse until darkness found her.

Tomorrow came early and with it came misery.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #5 Pt 1

Buckle up, fuckers. You can thank @crossbowking for this one.

ETA: this has become a 2 parter b/c my app didn’t save the rest of it :,)))) igkms

—

Thank God Daryl taught you how to track. Thank fucking God. Because you never would have thought about paying any attention to the fucking direction the grass had been trampled on towards, or the fact that some trash cans had been knocked over very recently — the only tell being the way they lacked the layer of dust everything else around them held. It was the small things, the attention to detail; and you were in such a spiraling panic, you were honestly surprised you remembered anything he’d ever taught you at all.

Your boots splashed in a fresh puddle and instantly your eyes shot downward — another hidden clue you never would have considered before you met him, all those lifetimes ago. Just barely visible was a separate footprint from yours, two, actually, that painted the otherwise dry asphalt beneath you, fresh enough that your heart sped up at the discovery. They both led the same direction, the same time, the same sense of urgency and haste behind them it seemed, as they continued forward in an obvious stumbling-sprint until they faded away outside of an old derelict gas station. You spun on your heels and headed straight for the garage.

The first thing you noticed was that the heavy metal door was ajar, just over a foot off of the ground, fresh blood smeared across the concrete beneath the opening. Somebody or something was inside, but the barefooted, rotten and decaying bottom-half of a corpse that protruded from the opposite side had you halting in your tracks: was that the source of the blood? No — the body was obviously that of a walker, the pant legs tattered and torn and stained with blacks and browns and greens, the exposed skin of its feet a grotesque shade of grey, maggots and worms slithering around the heel, and you swallowed the bile that rose up in your throat. No way their blood was that fresh.

So you rounded the corner and peered quietly through the sagging chain link fence, barbed wire snagging the flyaway hairs not contained in your messy ponytail, and your heart dropped at the sight that greeted you.

Walkers, some alive, some dead, no less than a dozen of them. Some wandered in aimless circles around the old scrap yard, but most of them were pressed unceremoniously against the boarded up window, jaws snapping hungrily, impatiently, in such a way that proved your suspicions that somebody was definitely inside of that gas station.

And if Daryl’s lessons had done you any good at all, you were positive it was him that had led you there.

You didn’t think you’d stopped shaking since you left Hilltop hours ago. In fact, you knew for a fact that you hadn’t been coherent or in any state of mind when you ran through the gates, furious and terrified and nauseas along another whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t pinpoint after being told that Daryl left by himself to track down Alpha and try to right all the latest wrongs that psychopath had rained down upon your friends and family. Someone had been yelling at you to stop, the same way you surely would’ve been yelling at Daryl had he not snuck out one night right underneath your fucking nose. Nobody followed you out, though. And you didn’t particularly care.

Sure, you were just as worried about Connie and Magna as everyone else. But you knew Daryl better than them — better than anybody did. And you knew the way his brain worked, how it always carried the weight of his loved ones problems, how he accepted the blame even when it had nothing to do with anything he did or could have done. He was so self-destructive, thought himself so unworthy if he couldn’t keep you or your family safe. He would, quite literally, go to the ends of the earth for those he cared about... whether or not it killed him. And if your crippling apprehension told you anything, it was that this particular instance would be no different, and considering the scene you’d just been walked into...

Clammy, trembling hands latched onto the rusty handle of the garage door before you thought better of trying to haul it open and instead laid down flat to army crawl beneath the gap, trying your best to ignore the pool of blood at your right and the corpse at your left. Everything seemed so loud, so hard to ignore, and you were so hyper aware of any and every detail that led you to believe that the worst-case-scenario was indeed the one you were about to be faced with.

It was dark inside the garage, the only light source being rays of dull, dreary outside-world that broke through the rotted wooden boards that would’ve sealed the place up tight four or five years ago. A blanket of dust should’ve covered the steel barstool that was toppled over in front of the man door, but it was much cleaner than anything else surrounding it, and droplets of blood painted a trail over top of it and into the store, beckoning for you to follow them.

You swallowed hard. We’re you even prepared to see what sights may present themselves on the other side of the gas station? The thought had you hesitating, had your breath hitching in your throat and your heart ceasing to beat entirely. But the fear that was threatening to suffocate you was the same impetus that had you raising your combat rifle to your shoulder, poised and ready to fire, as you crept slowly across the threshold with anxiety so deep and heavy in your bones that you weren’t positive you wouldn’t pass out before you found what you were looking for... whatever that was.

The store was a mess, clearly a recent endeavor, with expired foods and liquids covering the floor amongst shattered glass and splinters of wood and blood. So much fucking blood. Footprints that had stormed through it, handprints that slid down the wall, splattering the grimy lockers and old magazine clippings like some sort of abstract art exhibit compiled of your deepest fears. You were almost too scared to explore further — but the smallest sliver of hope that you’d learned to believe in had you pressing forward, Daryl’s reassuring voice in your ears among the obnoxious ringing that told you that, oh yeah, you might actually fucking pass out.

Thank fucking God Daryl had taught you how to track.

If you’d maybe stumbled upon a deer you’d been following, laying motionless against the display counter with a hunting knife lodged into the meat of its thigh, you might have been proud of yourself. You might have even turned to Daryl and smiled in spite of yourself, sticking your tongue out. ‘I told you I could do it,’ you’d tell him happily as you knelt down and began to skin and prepare it to come back home with you, and he would fight a proud smile of his own, rolling his eyes, ‘Yea, only ‘cause I taught ya how to.’

But any obscure, minuscule thought of potential pride and success was shattered and gone in milliseconds. Hell, it was hardly even a fleeting thought, and you actually found yourself momentarily disappointed in your actions as you let your rifle carelessly slip from your fingers and clash against the ground loudly. Instantly forgotten. In fact, the tip of your boot even kicked it aside for emphasis of your stupidity as you strode forward to the crumpled being laying still and silent against the disheveled wooden counter, head lulled to the side, bloody knife handle protruding from his leg.

His name stuck in your throat painfully as you collapsed to the ground by his side, hands hovering uselessly overtop of him with the desire to try and help but lacking any knowledge on how to do so. He was bloody, beaten, pale — so fucking pale, so still and please God please please please he was cold. Cold, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest seemed to breathe more life into you than it was him, literally and figuratively.

The tears that sprung to your eyes actually hurt, blurring your vision, which seemed to be the only working sense you had as everything else seemed to freeze inside you and around you, leaving you absolutely fucking useless.

You shook your head. “Daryl,” you gasped, the breath it took to say his name unintentionally allowing a sob to escape simultaneously. “Daryl?”

He didn’t stir. We’re you not loud enough? “Daryl!” Maybe he just couldn’t hear you. You reached out and gripped his shoulders, fingers intertwining into the fabric of his canvas vest, clutching like a lifeline that would cement your debilitating fears if you let go and let him fall away from you. “Daryl! Fuck — wake up!”

If you’d ever been a religious person, that moment would’ve been the exact time you dedicated your life and afterlife to whatever higher being you believed in when, holy shit, he let out a pathetic whimper that both broke your heart in two and kicked your adrenaline into overdrive but also allowed it all escape you in the form of your own racking sob.

“Oh, my God — fuck, fuck, fuck, Daryl, please — wh — what did you do?” You fought the urge to grip the handle of the knife that was stuck into his thigh and yank it out furiously. “What the fuck did you do?”

You at least had the sense to untie the bandana from around your neck, clumsily and hastily, and secure it tightly around his thigh above the wound, praying to anything that would listen that maybe it would help.

His head lulled softly toward you with another soft whine and fell limply, and you threw your hands to your own face and frantically brushed your hair from your face and wiped your eyes and scratched at your scalp, pulling your hair, and you were panicking, absolutely reeling, if Daryl was here he’d be lecturing you so bad, but he’s not here because he’s laying in front of you almost fucking dead, no he’s not dead, he’s breathing, barely, how do I fix him? How do I help? Do I take the knife out? No, no you can’t fucking do that, you dumbass, what if it hit an artery? He’ll bleed out before you can even... oh, God, his head’s bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding...

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You had some bandages in your bag, some sutures and needles, some alcohol... you tore blindly through it, retrieving the liquid and wraps and dropping them stupidly on your lap like you’ve never had to clean and dress a wound before in your entire life.

Once again you had to furiously wipe the tears from your eyes as they skewed your vision, smearing fresh blood his fucking blood, it’s everywhere, please please please no no no across your cheeks and it burnt your skin, taunting you, ticking loudly like an alarm clock that was about to run out right before your eyes.

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna fucking die and you were too late.

—

Also hey this is loosely based off of last nights episode that I didn’t want bc I can’t emotionally handle watching Daryl get hurt bc I’m a mess so sorry if it made no sense or was wrong!! Xoxoxo

Stay tuned for part 2 that I have to rewrite...........

[scoundrels-in-love]

We draw a line in the sand, We say don't cross this or else (Take this from me, take this lonely heart )

Brienne hasn't believed love itself is enough to defeat all obstacles for a long time.

When Jaime comes to join the convoy returning North after Dragonpit, it's not about them loving each other - it's about survival.

But maybe it can be about love, too.

Also on AO3.

I

 Brienne hasn’t believed love is enough in a long time.

 Like a flower, this childish belief has gradually lost its colorful petals - blown away by harsher fall winds that had blown out candles of her mothers’ and infant sisters’ lives, trashed to ground by cold rain like waves had battered Galladon’s body against the cliffs, fallen away from the first touch of frost that her decision to leave had brushed upon her relationship with her father.

 Love could not carry you over the pits in the road or take you over the mountains life raised in your path. Only you yourself could try to overcome these obstacles, assisted by it’s sometimes gentle, sometimes bruising hand.

 She still carries imprints of those, they ache dully into the night when she could not sleep, when neither crackling of fire or familiar shuffling of camp settled down (but never quite at peace) could soothe her.

 Her love could not save Renly when he bled out in her arms, so far from his own beloved.

 Just as her oaths and beliefs could not save Lady Stark - or her late Lady’s love had not saved her family.

 Much like Jaime, whose golden, cracked heart could not dispel darkness over Cersei’s mind with its glow.

 And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

 Yet, she had dared to hope, for a brief moment in Dragonpit, when their traded glances held the weight of gathering storm clouds upon the horizon - they could dispel yet, giving way to a sun so bright it blinds in its play or unleash a storm that would devour fleets in minutes.

 She had been blind, alright. But no sun had been present, except for the resplendent Lannister twins. And what cruel desert suns they could be.

 “Fuck loyalty,” she had told him, but now it tastes like salt and ash of burned would-bes in her mouth. Brienne would feel better if she could truly, honestly say she had meant it, without a single, passing thought of ‘fuck loyalty to her, your sister, and maybe you will find a different sort loyalty in the smoking ruins of what Cersei has reduced your love to’.

 Selfish, even when she tried to do what is right, even when she tried to save him.

 And so, so godsdamn angry when she could not.

 Podrick calls considerable amount of it upon himself, when she glares at the boy as he tumbles into her tent, red faced and out of breath.

 “Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime just arrived with a handful of men and announced he has a meeting with you.”

 II

 Jaime looks slightly out of place in her tent, but that is less disconcerting than the fact he is here and how much he still looks like he belongs. She has spent many years in war camps, too, but Brienne knows she looked a lot more misfit in his lavish Commander’s tent back in Riverrun.

 (She tries not to think about the implications of that, tries and fails.)

 “I could have exposed your lie,” she tells him, plainly. The implied should sways between them like an axe’s blade, edge of it glinting in the candle light.

 “But you didn’t.”

 “Do not make me regret it.” She regrets immediately, for the flicker of doubt, an almost hurt that casts shadows over his eyes, dips into the lines of his face, making her think of all the pain that others have inflicted on him with their dismissals and accusations.

 “Cersei does not intend to send her forces. I overheard her speaking with Qyburn, her rat of a Hand, about how she intended to keep me in the dark until the last possible moment.”

 He barrels on, which is for the best, because with a moment to speak or act, she might have walked up to cup his clenched jaw, take his fist in her hands until it warmed and melted open again under her touch.

 “I bade my time, took my most trusted men and raced to catch up with you. I doubted I would be given a chance to explain myself and enter the camp, so I lied and said this is what we had spoken about at Dragonpit.”

 She knows there are countless questions to ask, about logistics, about how many men he had trusted and if they could indeed be trusted, about, about, about, but all that she has on her tongue is: “Why?”

 It comes out quiet and paper thin, a rustle of dry leaves to reflect the drought in her mouth.

 Jaime walks forward, stops a step away from her, and she can see more clearly now how distraught he really is. It’s not even the way his beard is far from the well-maintained form it had been back at Dragonpit or the tension in his shoulders, his whole body, really. There is something broken and hopeful and soft in his eyes, which she has only one word for, but not one she can give it.

 She thinks he looks like a page torn from a book that hopes she will sew him back into another tome, instead of tossing him into the fire.

 “If I have to go North and die fighting decayed monsters, at least we can do it together, Brienne.”

 She has been addressed in many ways and her name dragged through spit, blood and mud, but the way he says it now is as if he has washed it clean and is holding it tenderly. It lances through her heart, right next to where his solemn proclamation is buried hilt deep.

 “You are seeking out an honorable death, is that it?” Later she wonders if her voice rose in volume, but right now, all she can feel is anger as a wall built hastile in response to the hurt.

 “We all die and this is perhaps one way I can actually be useful doing it.” She sees him closing up, too, retreating now that the conversation had spun out of his hands, though Brienne does not know where he had wanted to take it.  

 “Ser Jaime, do you intend to live or to die?” He flinches at her use of his title, the moat she has haphazardly dug around herself filling with water rapidly. And yet, she still hopes he will give something, so she can lower the drawbridge.

 “You know none of us can intend much in a battlefield.”

 The gate falls shut and she knows Jaime sees it, hope that has been crumbling already turned into foggy resignation and yet the softness stays.

 “Very well, Ser Jaime. I will make necessary arrangements for the stay of you and your men. I am sure your brother will be happy to let you spend tonight in his tent.”

 “Good night, Lady Brienne.”

 III  

 Handful of men turn out to be a good fifty well armed and equally trained soldiers and while rest of the camp is vary of them initially, enough for them to be somewhat glorified prisoners, the trial which Brienne had worried for is seemingly postponed until they reach Winterfell and over the journey, the tension eases and connections are made.

 She, too, finds herself making some - particularly with Jaime’s second in command, Addam Marbrand. Next morning, after she had finished training with Pod, he had strode over to her, all easy swagger and seemingly genuine respect, introducing himself and pressing kiss to back of her hand as he told he had heard great many things of her valour and battle skills.

 Perhaps it is what he chooses to praise or his eagerness when sparring, or the way he lures a shadow of smile or a familiar scowl out of Jaime over stories he shares of their childhood that makes her feel more at ease around him than she normally would.

 Or maybe she spends time with him because it is closest to natural excuse she has to be near Jaime. At first, she had avoided him and he seemed to do the same, but then Addam had started dragging him to campfires and early morning spars.

 “If you intend to watch Lady Brienne’s six, you could do better than merely be a body shield for one or two wights,” he had said the first time, ignoring Jaime’s grimace (and earning a notch on her appreciation scale).

 After she and Addam are done with him, he has more than a remark to make faces about. But he grins and bears it, quite literally, and within a week he taunts them in return and the improvement is clear. Sometimes, she almost forgets where they are and what awaits them, with the way their swords sing and banter warms the space between them. Some of it is stilted still, bear pits of silences they stumble into, especially when it is just her and Jaime, the unspoken things just as dangerous as the beast that left its mark on her body.

 Especially so on quiet nights when they find themselves sitting together and gazing at the moon in her milky garden, promising cold weather. It makes her wonder if that single, wilted flower could’ve been part of an azalea instead, which now mistakes the warmth of his shoulder for the arrival of Spring. But the Winter is not just coming - it is already here.

 IV

 Though Winterfell is half-sunken in snow, something seems to thaw in Jaime after his trial has passed. There is uncertainty to him still, like he is a spring that hasn’t found the path it will carve out ahead just yet, but he throws himself into the preparations earnestly and his eyes glint with color of laughter (green of new leaves) more often.

 It feels selfish to seek him and Addam out, under guise of discussing strategies and overall progress, when she merely wants a moment of breathing, away from everything that they’re actually supposed to think about. She draws in air so deeply, so greedily it actually hurts - hurts when Jaime’s hand hovers near hers as they stand on battlement and his smile is warmer than memories of sun, clouds on its edges because they know this is not enough. And he cannot give her more.

 Yet he does.

 Addam had mentioned her (lack of) knighthood before, but she had brushed him off. It is the last thing on her mind, when Jaime stands up abruptly after Tyrion mentions most of the people present have fought the Starks at one point, yet now they are united to defend their castle.

 “There would have been no one to truly reclaim it, if not for Lady Brienne, who brought Lady Sansa home,” he says, almost conversationally, but she can sense the flood of certainty rolling generous waves within him. She fears she is the river banks it intends to swallow.

 “And if there is to be a new dawn, it deserves to be greeted by one true knight in these seven wretched kingdoms.” Jaime sets his cup down and moves to the center of the room, the sound of him unsheathing Widow’s Wail almost deafening in the quiet that has entangled everyone.

 “Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

 She wants to laugh it off, before he can, before someone says ‘women cannot be knights’, before -- but only he exists outside the silence and she has no voice. Somewhere, on the edges of her vision, Addam and Podrick smile at her with such pride and encouragement that it sweeps her off her chair and toward Jaime, like he is the lighthouse and the cliffs that could shatter her all at once.

 He guides her to the shore, gleaming in the firelight, and her legs wobble as her lip does when she stands up, now a knight.

 In that moment, love isn’t just enough, it is everything, and all she can see is flurry of pink in golden sunlight.

 V

 Morning comes, but the night has taken many under her cold, silent wings.

 She has lost the count of how many times she thought it will carry away those dearest to her, instead it had become a rod of ice next to her backbone that hadn’t let her bend or break, or stop even for a moment as they fought through the Long Night.

 It still has not melted, almost a day later, because Addam is laying pale in a makeshift infirmary bed. Only for a moment, she had lost sight of him, but it could as well have been an infinity, because next time a wave of wights crested and fell apart, so was he crumbling to the ground. They had managed to drag him along as they were forced to retreat towards a wall, clinging to the ragged breath he still drew and the hope it could be over soon, but if the battle had lasted even half an hour more, he would have faded away propped against the stone, now uselessly protected by three swords.

 She has not seen him since they brought him to Maester that night, immediately overtaken by  duties, interrupted only by short and restless sleep where sometimes it was Jaime, sometimes Addam and even Podrick that fell (and then rose) in her dreams. But now she is here and so is Jaime, who has little else to do than to be by his friend’s bed and mend his own wounds.

 He chides Brienne for looking as if she will keel over herself, has few choice words for Lady Sansa’s inability to manage even a day without her, and drags her on a stool next to his. Doesn’t let her hand go even afterward - it is rough and warm, and familiar somehow, though they have barely ever touched. As if all the countless dreams she has had have somehow become a piece of truth, reality, embedded in her body and mind.

 “Brienne, he will live,” Jaime tells her and she wants to tell him he cannot know that, not with the clarity he bears, but she smiles a little and nods in return, because it is good one of them can be so assured of it.

 “And so will I.” His voice is almost solemn, trembling just a little like he isn’t sure if this promise is even wanted, though he must, just as she had known his heart. And she thinks of the gaping abyss they still have yet to cross which love will not lift them gently over on its own, and of the way she cannot think of taking another step without his hand in hers, and then she is kissing him, soft and sweet and he cannot taste like first warm spring rain, yet he somehow does.

 “Could not wait until I am good enough to say finally with all the panache it deserves, could you?”

 They startle apart, though Jaime’s hand stays on her shoulder, still drawing her closer even if it is awkward at this angle. Addam still looks pale, but she appreciates seeing his eyes again, the glimmer of mirth and relief making him seem more lively than he logically can be.

 When she stands to call Maester, she thinks she was right - love itself might not be enough. But when it is encased with support and trust and oaths that are hard to give but easy to uphold once said, and life that shall be lived and shared, it becomes something that makes roads and homes in impossible places. And somewhere in her heart, azalea blooms dizzyingly as the color drips back into the landscape.

[rosy-cheekx]

Case #0162406: Fear Factor

Case #0162407. Statement of Katherine Brown, regarding her experience in a Fear Factory. Statement taken direct from subject by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. In your own time, Ms. Brown.

Please, it’s just Katherine. Did you have any trouble getting here? I’ve been told it’s quite hidden away. And I’m sorry again to ask you to come here but, as you can see, there’s really no chance of being able to pop down to London for a little day trip.

No, Ms. Katherine, it was no trouble. From what I’ve heard from the papers you have quite a story to tell.

Oh...you read about me? I was really hoping you wouldn’t. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy before hearing my story. I get why they think I am; I get why I’m here. But I know what happened, I know I’m not--

Ms. Katherine, please. I’m not here to pass judgement on your condition, just to take your statement. Now... In your own time.

Yes. Yes, of course... 

I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. When I was a kid, my friends and I would do anything we could. We were kids in the middle of nowhere, so it was mostly shoplifting and riding our bikes down big hills really fast, just to feel that heart-pounding rush of fear and success of survival. Our favorite thing to do, though, was go to haunted houses. From September through to Halloween, we would go to any haunted house attraction we could find and scream ourselves silly. As we got older, it became a more complex game. How long could we last, who would scream the least or the loudest, just kid stuff. Most of us grew out of it eventually, those sorts of attractions only get so scary. Rachel and I, though, we couldn’t get enough of it. We started finding weirder and weirder places to scratch that itch, that need to be terrified. As soon as she had turned 18, being a month and a half younger than me, we had signed up to go to our first touchable house. Typically, haunted houses have a no-touching-the-patrons rule, so the ones that don’t offer that safety were alluring to us. 

It sort of escalated from there, really. In America, there was a guy who had haunted houses so terrifying that you had to sign waivers and take a psych exam to go through. I’ve read all sorts of stories about them locking people in cages, cutting their hair, feeding them all sorts of things. All completely consensual, of course, a whole new level of terror attractions. It was shut down, I think, but that was the kind of scare we wanted. To go through something like that, and come out alive? We wanted to feel invincible, immortal.

Three years ago, I think, Rachel was in this forum, looking for some attractions that would be open in September. The weirder they are, the more likely they were to be open year-round, because Halloween wasn't the point. She found a really buried ad for one called Fear Factory. I think the ad labeled it as “an immersive experience sure to scare the life out of you.” There weren't any reviews on it at first, which was initially a red flag, but with some digging, we saw it was new.  Like, opened-its-doors-a-month-ago new. They seemed to be legit, their website boasted of other locations in America and Canada, but reviews seemed to be locked behind a password, so the experience wasn’t spoiled for first timers. Rachel put us on the waiting list. We were both freshly 21, feeling unstoppable, and weren’t really thinking about the risks.

A week or so later, we both got an email, claiming our application had been accepted and we were being offered an experience at the Fear Factory next Friday. We both eagerly accepted, and they sent us an address of where to go. We looked it up; an old office complex, rundown, but that fit the aesthetic of something like this pretty well. They had us fill out some detailed surveys, asking about fears, hard limits, and random things, like our relationship to each other, where we went to school, our interests.

We drove together to the complex, parking outside the building, and taking time to do our due diligence. We both texted Peter, a schoolmate of ours, gave him the address of the place, and a time to check in with us. Some of these more complicated scenarios take a while, and it was already 9 in the evening, so we told him to call us at 2 a.m. to check that we were okay. 

As we were both on our phones, we heard a woman clear her throat. She was tall, wearing a black jacket and jeans, and her sunglasses reflected the streetlamps off the lenses. She introduced herself as Mara and said she would take us to the “beginning of the end.” We laughed at that, elbowing each other over being scared. She took us up a few flights of stairs, before rapping a fingerless-gloved hand on the door of the third floor’s landing. She told Rachel to go in and someone would meet her there. I squeezed her hand twice before she left. I wish I had something, told her that I loved her, that I’d see her later, something. 

She brought me to the sixth floor and showed me into a small room. There was a small chair, but the room was completely empty other than that. It smelled sickly sweet, like something rotting. Mara let me in and handed me a strip of black cloth. A blindfold. I sat in the chair and tied it, knotting it carefully beneath my ponytail. She told me to count to 100, take the blindfold off, and the game would begin. As she closed the door, something I couldn’t quite call music began to play. It was high pitched and resonant, almost like an echo of laughter layered over itself.

I began to count, feeling like a kid as I added an unspoken “one hundred” underneath to make sure I wasn’t counting too fast or to slow. As I reached one hundred, the creeping music stopped. I took off the blindfold and blinked to adjust to what I now found myself in: oppressively cold darkness. I stood and extended my hand, slowly making my forward to where I knew the door to be. The intense feeling of fear began to creep over me, and I felt an irresistible smile spread across my face. I found what must be the handle to the door and twisted it. I shut my eyes tight against the harsh white light that filled my field of view. I blinked and adjusted to the light of the stairwell gradually, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me. My vision pitched suddenly, the frame of the door bulging impossibly, twisting into what seemed like a smile. I inhaled sharply, like filling my lungs would catch my balance. 

 The sharp descending of the stairs twisted in front of me, my vision still swirling; it would take too long to take the time to carefully step down each without falling. I had to get to the fourth floor. I could escape there. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I leapt, hand on the railing, clearing the full set of steps as my anchored hand guided me down safely. The door for the fifth floor was in front of me, a dull pale metal, but I knew it wouldn’t be safe there. I repeated the process again, using the rail as a track for my hand as I jumped from the fifth floor landing to the fourth, the door with the 4 emblazoned in in black paint rising before me like the pearly gates. I would be safe there. I would be safe there.

I thrust open the door and found myself in the middle of a hallway. The floor was a murky pink and brown laminate, and the white ceiling low. There were no windows. Both ends of the hallway seem to split into two passages. Panic rose in my chest; they were coming. I had to go. I picked blindly, turning left, and running full tilt down the hall. Almost as soon as I had started running, I saw figures turn the corner. Their forms shed no shadows, a part of me registered, but it carried no weight as the bald, rotting, decrepit bodies sprinted towards me, ragged nails and broken teeth glinting in the light of the hallway. They leapt at me, biting and scratching. I’m sure I cried out as one took a chunk of flesh from my hand, but the blood pumping in my ears drowned out most sounds. I don’t know how I fought them off, honestly, adrenaline was overpowering all other senses. I continued running down the hallway.

There was a door. It was identical to the doors that had been in the stairwell, the cold brushed metal distorting reflections. It was only then, seeing a vague version of myself staring back at me that I realized I was no longer feeling that swirling dizziness. Relieved, I opened the door. I wasn’t entirely sure what I am expecting but it certainly wasn’t my dormitory. The tall bedframe, the simple desk, the wardrobe with the mirror hanging over the front of it. It was the mirror, of all things, that beckoned me. I let the door fall shut behind me as I took the few steps to cross the room and stare at myself. There was blood streaked across my face, and it dripped from my hands, which I realized with a start were still curled into tight fists. I had been wearing overalls over a sweater, but the front hung off me like a wilted petal, a snap apparently broken off during my previous encounter. I was a mess. I was dirty. I needed to change.

As soon as that thought had entered my head, I was already peeling off the destroyed overalls, all other thoughts set aside. I should have known it wasn’t over, that fighting a couple zombie-like creatures wouldn’t have been enough. It was too warm in this room, too sterile to be my dorm. But none of those concerns crossed my mind as I opened the creaky wooden door to the wardrobe, where I knew a fresh pair of jeans would be. And there were, I suppose. But opening the door had seemed to interrupt the new occupants of my closet, a massive hive of wasps that had built a nest along the swinging corner of the door and the small magnet that held the door closed. I had effectively torn the nest in two, and my error was not easily forgiven. I did hear myself scream this time as furious insects swarmed me, sharp stings lighting up my body like a thousand electric shocks. I staggered and backed into the wall, hands pressed over my eyes, too instinctively concerned for my sight to try to swipe at the wasps that flooded my senses. My scream didn’t last long, as my open mouth encouraged some stings to my tongue as well, and I gritted my teeth shut, heaving panicked breaths. I wasn’t sure how long I was there, pressed into the corner opposite the wardrobe, until gradually I realized that the stinging over my body was the throbbing of the previous wounds, not the inflicting of new ones. Tentatively uncovering my eyes, I surveyed the room. I was grateful to discover I must have knocked the mirror off its supports in my struggle, unable to comprehend what I must look like now, more histamine than human. I crept forward, avoiding the broken glass, except for a brief pause to stoop and gingerly grab a hefty shard. If there more of those undead bodies, I wanted to be ready. I also saw that the wasp’s nest was gone somehow. The compartment was devoid of the rolls of papery hive and any evidence the wasps had existed besides my aching body was gone. I was relieved and quickly grabbed the first pair of jeans I could find, wincing all the while as I shook out the folds. I refused to be sore and naked for whatever was about to happen next.

As I shook out the dark denim, I watched a handful of tiny specks fall off the pants. I wish it were a lie to say I almost laughed when I saw that they were ants, marching fastidiously along the creases of, upon inspection, every pair of pants I owned. Lucky for me, I suppose, that ants had never bothered me. The bad joke, however? Brutal.

You know how they say that adrenaline and fear help you preserve memories? Flashbulb memories, they’re called. Of traumatic or significant events. Well I think that even the adrenaline that was pounding through me had its limits. I don’t remember what happened next. I must have run out into the hallway, must have tried to find my way out, but it’s all a bit of a blur. I remember something to do with my teeth and a pair of pliers, but I don’t think there’s anything there I want to remember anyways. The next thing I remember, however, is something I don’t think I can ever forget.

I was in another long hallway. Or it could have been the same hallway, I’m not sure how I would know. I saw shadows shift and contract, and a form emerged, completely enveloped in shadow. It looked like a person only in that had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head. The hands were long, and the elbows crooked at wrong angles. The torso was slightly lopsided, like the head was too big to be supported properly. The legs were also impossibly long, and I couldn’t see feet. There was a sound, too, that was bothering me, but I couldn’t quite place it. It was like a low droning or buzzing, like it was trying to speak to me. We stood, frozen in a face-off before it lunged at me, moving at impossible speeds. I blinked and it was practically on top of me, swiping with its talons for fingers. I took some nasty swipes across my abdomen and stabbed at it with my shard of mirror. I missed once but the second time, I stabbed it where the neck and shoulder met. Shadows spilt from the wound, covering my hand in dark fog.

That was when I heard it. The buzzing sound sharpened and cleared up. I heard Rachel, crying, saying my name. I blinked and the shadow person was gone, and it was Rachel who I saw, Rachel whose blood was pooling around my hand, Rachel who I had stabbed. I dropped the mirror fragment and tried to apologize, but the words couldn’t quite leave my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to explain, apologize, or even comfort her, but the light had left her eyes soon enough and I knew I was ready to give up.

Police found me later. Apparently, we had been missing for two days. I don’t remember much of the trial, honestly, but there was never any evidence of either of us being drugged up or anything. They called it a temporary psychotic episode brought on by panic. I was put here instead, and I spend every night trying to avoid sleeping so I don’t see Rachel’s eyes, staring back at me, begging me to help. The...The wasps were real, though, I remember being treated for them in the hospital later.

Thank you, Ms. Katherine. Have... Have a good day. 

Click.

This has been a frustrating one to research. One would think a story with an online internet ad would lead to something. But no, Sasha hasn’t been able to track down any sort of Fear Factory, except for some Salt Lake City haunted house, but further research didn’t lead to any connections. There’s also a band, but there’s also no connections to anyone with the name Mara. Sasha was also able to finagle her way into old text records between Rachel and Peter, and got the address, near Oxford. Martin took a trip down to take a look at it but didn’t find anything. There was, in fact, an abandoned building, and it was, the site of the homicide of Rachel Tillvale, by Katherine Brown, according to police records. The odd part, however, is that Katherine was certain that she was taken to the sixth floor of the building, and that the fourth floor was her escape. Unless Martin has become wholly incapable at his job, which...is probably not the case, there are only three floors of that building. The weird part was the basement. Ms. Brown had mentioned something but couldn’t recall it. I understand why. In the basement of the building, there was a handful of adult teeth in the utility sink.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Nine: Community ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

“I just...I don’t understand!”

“That’s my point. You don’t. And given your perspective, I’m not sure you ever will.”

“What happened wasn’t the fault of everyone in the village. So why do you blame them?”

“I don’t! I blame them for their complacency! You’ve known the truth since Obito confronted you on the way to Tetsu no Kuni. He told you everything…! What the council, and the Hokage, and Danzō did to my clan. To my brother, to me…! Someone you claim to care about, to understand! But rather than address it - rather than finally come to terms with my goals, and what I needed for closure and justice - it was like you never heard a word. All you cared about was dragging my ass back to Konoha, whether I wanted it or not.”

“Because it’s your home! Your community! Where your friends are! Where your family lived -”

“And died. Or more accurately, were massacred by my own government. No trials, no publicity...just outright murder. You think I wanted to be dragged back to the place where my family was butchered and then sold for parts by Danzō? Where the rest of the council that organized the Uchiha genocide are not only still alive, but in power…? You think I wanted to come back here without any hint of justice? No mention from you, or Sakura, or Kakashi about addressing the massacre. Nothing. Not a word, or a whisper. Because from the time I left, my goals and my pain didn’t matter to you. All that did was your entitlement to my time and person. You call me a friend, but when have you ever done anything to help me accomplish the only goal I’ve had since I was seven years old?”

Naruto, breath heavy with emotion, has no answer.

Sasuke stares back, his own - somehow - calmer. “...you tell me that my friends are here. Maybe they are. But until I get apologies - and action - regarding what befell my clan at the hands of the village you love so much...I can’t call you a friend. My clan was the only thing that mattered to me. Konoha had mistreated them based on the actions of one man for generations. Treated them, at times, as second class citizens. My father’s attempts to have talks regarding the tensions between them were always met with stony silence. He felt he had no choice, for the sake of his people, to rebel against the ones holding them hostage. They held us to Madara’s actions, even as we turned our backs on him and remained loyal to Konoha. Tobirama gave us the police force, but never gave up his suspicion and ire. We were kept in a back corner of the village, separate from everyone. When the Kyūbi attacked, we were blamed. And in the end...we told the truth. It wasn’t us. It was Obito, acting on Madara’s orders. The man we turned against in favor of a village that then never trusted us despite our loyalty. And for that...all but one of us is now dead.

“...I know that the people of Konoha aren’t to blame for the massacre. That lays on the shoulders of four people, two of which are now dead...one of which I had to do myself. So you have a choice, Naruto. You can blindly accept the actions of your village’s council - refuse to do anything to address their crimes - or you can step up and act like the Hokage you want to be. You can look at this injustice, and do something about it.” A dark eye narrows. “...or I will. No more swallowing the truth for Konoha’s benefit. Its foundation is built on the bones of my clan. I will see justice done, one way or another. What side of history do you want to be on?”

“...Sasuke…”

“Until you and the others make up your minds, I don’t want to hear from you. As long as you stand silent on this...you don’t have the right to my time.” Turning on a heel, Sasuke leaves his teammate’s apartment.

He knew it would be pointless. Knew that his team was still too blinded by village loyalty to consider removing the poisoned roots. But on the off chance that he could get some increment of the truth through Naruto’s thick skull, he had to try.

And look where it gets him.

He knows there’s still recovery going on. From the destruction wrought by Pein, from the war...in the grand scheme of things, justice for a crime a decade old - no matter its scale - has to wait.

...but he doesn’t want to wait forever.

Even now, the sting of his team’s inaction and silence after learning what Konoha’s elders had done boils his blood...but he’s working on his temper. Koharu and Homura still have to answer for their actions. Hiruzen and Danzō are dead. Once some kind of justice is done to those who remain...he’ll be satisfied.

...but beyond that, he wants the truth known. The price the Uchiha paid the ultimate price for the stability of the village that betrayed them. He wants every citizen - shinobi and civilian alike - to know just what that stability has cost him. So that it can weigh on them as it weighs on him.

He won’t let this be forgotten. Buried. Lost to time and the sins of a system he will help change.

Outside Naruto’s apartment, the weather has turned overcast, the first few drops of rain beginning to fall as he shuts the door, crouching atop the railing before hopping his way down rooftops and balconies to the street below. It doesn’t bother him. In fact, he finds it more than appropriate.

Even now, the people of Konoha look to him warily, distrust in their eyes. He wonders how those looks will change once they realize what drove him. What still drives him.

...he wonders if they ever will.

Water soon begins to drip from his fringe, the hair bouncing with every release of weight. He doesn’t mind the rain. It’s hardly about to make him ill.

But someone else notices.

“...Sasuke-kun?”

For a sliver of a moment, the name irks him. Sakura still calls him that. But this isn’t Sakura. The tone is far too soft, far more polite than her grating, attention-demanding recitals of his name. Instead, a glance to a nearby shop overhang reveals a growingly-familiar face.

Hyūga Hinata.

Their mutual connections have meant being thrown together rather often since his return a few weeks ago. While she was so unnoticeable before he left he barely knew her, he’s still become aware of how much she’s changed. Possibly the most out of anyone in their year, if he’s to be honest.

“...Hyūga.”

“...um...did you forget an umbrella?”

“Left before I knew I’d need one. It’s not about to kill me.”

“No, but…” Her brow gives a funny little furrow: torn between hesitation and determination. “...would you like to use mine?”

“I’m fine, Hyūga.”

“But -?”

He gives a roll of his eyes alongside a sigh. “...fine. I’m just going home, anyway.”

“O...okay.” Unfurling the thing, she steps up alongside him, and a glance reminds him of how much shorter she is than him. The lavender umbrella is actually fairly wide, and keeps most of the rain off them both.

“Were you...out for a walk?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I just...I noticed you aren’t carrying anything, so…”

“I was visiting Naruto.”

“...oh!”

“It didn’t go well.”

“...oh. I’m...sorry to hear that.”

“He’s just being his typical bullheaded self.” Hinata, as it turns out, is one of the few people most privy to the whole affair. Not that Sasuke minds - if anything, he’s glad to know someone else is aware.

Especially since she’s been a rather vocal voice taking his side.

The Hyūga, after all, are distant relatives of the Uchiha. While he hardly calls them kin, they’re the most similar to his late clan, in both terms of skills and power. And Hinata’s experiences - while hardly to the scale of his own - grant her a unique perspective on the matter...along with an understanding.

She offers a soft sigh. “...may I ask what...was said?”

“He seems to think that I need to relax and just try to adjust back into the village. It’s like he’s not considering my point about the council at all. Something has to be done. I won’t stand for anything less. But it’s like he wants me to just...pretend none of it happened. Waltz around Konoha like I never left. Rejoin the community. Like I can just open up my arms and everything will be how it was. Or...how he thought it was.”

“...Naruto-kun does seem to have a bit of a, um...rose-tinted view of the village’s politics,” Hinata replies, tone a bit dry. “...even after all that happened with the Hyūga, and with Neji-nīsan, he hasn’t approached us about his supposed promise to help us reform the branched clan policy. It’s been Neji and I heading that front. It can’t and w-won’t be so easy for you to adjust back to life in the village...especially when the people responsible for your clan’s genocide are still walking free.”

“Exactly.”

Her gaze averts downward. “...I’m sorry. I w-wish there was a way to make this easier. It’s been said been said before, but...please don’t forget that the Hyūga are with you. We’re prepared to help whatever way we can. But...we can’t act on our own. The other clans need to be made aware. Otherwise...I’m afraid the revelation will spark panic and mistrust.”

“As it should, honestly,” Sasuke mutters. “An entire clan was wiped out without fair trial or a proper audience. Any other clan, should they ever have a grievance severe enough, could be next. Of course...none of them have the relationship with the long-standing Senju-biased power in Konoha that my clan did. But once they know what happened...it’ll be a very real concern.”

“Exactly. So...we have to handle this delicately. But...that does still mean we have to handle it.”

By now, the pair have wandered out toward the clan districts, the Hyūga gates coming up first. The Uchiha clan no longer has a gate: just a large, empty field where the land was re-leveled after Pein’s assault, sans for the house Sasuke’s been built.

After a brief silence, Hinata offers, “...I’m sure Naruto-kun and the others will c-come around. It’s just...complicated. I’m sure they want justice for you. But...we all have our other strings attached we h-have to account for.”

Sasuke sighs. “...I know. But until it’s made known, I’ll never just fit in the way Naruto wants me to. To everyone but a handful, I’m a criminal and a traitor only pardoned due to my ties to the Rokudaime and the village hero.”

Her expression falls. “...it isn’t fair. But...w-we’ll get there. And...hopefully we can help this community rebuild, in ways b-better than it was before. Konoha isn’t perfect, and...addressing its wrongs and shadows is important to help us more forward into a new era of peace. For all of us.”

For some reason, her words seem to really resound in his chest. All of us. Meaning him, too. Rebuild the community...hm…

An idea worming its way into his head, he comes to a stop with her at the Hyūga gate. “...thanks for listening.”

“Any time, Sasuke-kun. Do you...want to take my umbrella with you?”

“I’ll be fine, but thanks. It’s not much further.”

“All right. If you need anything...don’t hesitate to ask, ne?”

For a brief moment, a corner of his mouth flickers. “...I’ll keep that in mind.”

“...enjoy your evening, Sasuke-kun.”

“You too.”

Watching her head into the compound, he then turns and makes to conquer the last distance before home. He feels a lot...calmer now. Funny how talking with her always seems to do that, even if they really don’t talk that much.

...maybe that’s sort of the point.

Still...her words about working on Konoha’s interior have the cogs in his mind turning. There might be something to that...but, one step at a time.

                                                           .oOo.

     A bit more of my 'canon' verse cuz...that was the first thing to come to mind with this one!      My interpretation for Sasuke in this verse is not just all sunshine and rainbows with his team after the war. I, for one, CANNOT accept the Uchiha massacre just being swept under the rug the way it is in 700+. Cuz let's be real, a boy - man - who fought for justice for more than half his life, for a decade, wouldn't just shrug off genocide because his friend wants him to forget and just...go back and play house with his team that has, in all reality, done very little to support him and justice for his clan even AFTER learning the truth.      Hence doing things my way ;3 (And just as a heads up / reminder, no, I don't debate my view of things in comments, be it plot or characterization or relationships between characters. This is my interpretation. You're free to yours. Debating said topics is not what I'm here to do, since I've gotten some rather confrontational comments on the subject before, lol. This is a fanfic, not a forum for discussion. No likey, take hikey.)      ANYWHO, it's late, and I gotta head to bed! Thanks for reading~

[j-hoseok94]

Book: House of Cards

Author:ReyRey

01•02•03•04•05

Five

The party was in an hour and my anxiety was creeping up on me. I decided to start getting ready thinking that if I distracted myself i would be able to get over my anxiety. I rummaged through my closet trying to find a decent dress that didn't make it look like i was trying too hard but at the same make their mouths water. A part of my wanted to walk in and turn heads and the other part wanted to wear a very baggy shirt and sweats. 

I found a very black dress in the back of my closet. I ran my fingers on the very soft material remembering that it was a gift from my best friend for one of my birthdays. I never wore it mostly because it was too sparkly for my liking but i decided. 'Fuck it i think it's cute.'

I took a quick shower and slipped the black glittery dress on, it was strapless and i felt like i was showing too much skin. I dug through the pile of clothes I had accumulated on the floor looking for my long sleeve lace cropped "jacket". It buttoned just over my collarbone. As I picked out accessories i went with a very thin black choker. I grabbed silver earrings that dangled down far enough that it brushed against my shoulder. It had two things attached to them one was a small ring and the other was a silver chain with a feather at the end.

I kept my hair down it's natural curly waves making it look like i did my hair. I was never one for makeup but thankfully I learned how to actually do it. I kept the colors fairly neutral stuck with browns and golds, knowing it would make my hazel eyes pop out more. It was almost time and i wish that i was able to just stay home but i looked good as fuck.My confidence rising as I stared in the mirror at my flowy dress. I grabbed my gold stilettos and slipped them on. 'I'll show Yoongi. I can walk in heels and i'll make him regret every cruel word he said.'

I headed towards the place Jungkook had said the party was located, nerves forming in my stomach. Would they be mean? Did he invite me as a joke? My mind was stressing every possible negative outcome going to this party could result in. I approached the gates of this enormous house that i could not believe was the place Jimin lived. Groups of laughing boys and girls headed towards the house. The music was very loud and could be heard down the block but it didn't seem like it bothered anybody.

I walked up to the house my small black purse hanging off my shoulder, the strap was made of gold chain link. I reached the open door seeing inside as people grinded on each other to the music a few people making out. I felt so out of place here and was frozen in place for a split moment. I pushed my nerves aside, 'I have to prove to them that I can be in this environment.' I felt like I was trying to convince myself than actually trying to prove to them. 

I walked through the door, glancing around at everyone. Most of them were drunk off their asses and stumbling everywhere. I made my way to the back of the giant house looking at all the expensive decorations. In complete awe I finally reached the back of the house a glass sliding screen opened to the backyard. A very big very expensive looking swimming pool with a small waterfall cascading off of the beautifully constructed rocks creating a small cave under the waterfall. It was gorgeous and only made me wonder about Jimin, was he stupid rich?

There was suddenly arms snaking around my waist slowly, "Look who finally decided to show up." I peeled his hands off me flipping around to face Jungkook. "Damn Princess you clean up well." He stared at me up and down checking me out with a very cocky grin on his face. I rolled my eyes at him annoyed with his constant staring.

It was my turn to look at him. He had on a white shirt with a multicolored tie dye style jacket, light blue torn jeans with a red plaid shirt tied around his waist. His hair was over one eye but for the most part looked intentionally messy but in a cute way. His earring was a long rectangular silver piece dangling with some little silver chains next to it. He looked good but i wasn't gonna tell him that. His ego didn't need to be boosted anymore than it already was.

"Pfft what i have to dress like this at school now"

"I mean I wouldn't mind." He smirked

"If i did that then you wouldn't have anything to look forward to." I teased.

"I look forward to you not having anything on. So whatever you wear doesn't matter to me cause it'll come off anyways." He chuckled a little.

I scoffed,"You're disgusting Kookie. What makes you think i'd even let you get that far? Hmm?" I looked at him with a smug grin on his face. 'He actually believed he had a chance. How cute.' I glanced around, "Where's your little friends at?"

He looked back at the party going on inside,"Well Namjoon and Jin are off somewhere enjoying each others company." He winked when he said that. "Hobi is inside with Tae and Jimin. Probably in the living room." He placed his hands in his pockets.

"And Yoongi?" I furrowed my eyebrows up at him attempting to look innocent. Who knows if it worked. He laughed and smiled down at me, "He isn't here yet as far as I know. He hates parties so he may come late and leave early like normal." I glanced down a little disappointed I wanted to rub it in his face that i can actually look pretty.

"Let's get you a drink." I shook my head rapidly and tried to tell him that I don't drink. He slinked his arm around my shoulders pulling me along. He pulled me into the kitchen and poured me clear liquid into a red cup. I could only assume it was Vodka. I smelled it when he handed it to me. I didn't like the smell at all.

He pushed the cup onto my lips and lifted it, "C'mon princess drink up." I coughed my lungs up practically as the liquid burned it's trail down my throat. I wiped my mouth, "That was disgusting you guys drink this?! Willingly?!" He just laughed at me and poured me another drink.

He had his arm around me once more as he guided me to the living room where i was met by Hobi, TaeTae and Jimin a.k.a ChimChim. I shrugged him off my shoulders when we reached the room. TaeTae was occupied with a very thin girl, whispering in her ear as she giggled. Hobi was off in the corner joking with some of the other males. ChimChim was sitting in a seat off in the other corner of the room, a very pretty and thick girl sat in his lap. Her purple hair was very beautifully contrasted to bring out her olive skin tone. They were whispering to each other and occasionally kissed. 

Hobi ran up to me,"Oh My God Rose! You look stunning." He beamed his sunshine smile my way and hugged me. I blushed at his comment. "Aww thank you Hobi it was just in the back of my closet. I thought i'd take it for a spin." I giggled excitedly to him. His reaction made the other males look over at me.

TaeTae headed over grabbing my hand and twirling me in place, "Absolutely beautiful Rose. I'm actually surprised you came I thought ChimChim scared you off with his comment yesterday." I shook my head and stared up at Tae, "I'm tougher than that TaeTae. It'll take more than that to get rid of me haha. Besides I wasn't invited by ChimChim i was invited by Kookie." I smiled at Tae who smiled his boxy smile down at me. I was so comfortable with Hobi and him even though I just met them yesterday. Literally.

Jimin got up from his seat and strolled over to where we were. The girl who was in his lap right behind him. "Well well well if it isn't Kookie's Princess. I almost didn't recognize you with all that makeup on your face."

I glared at him for a moment eventually looking at his outfit. His outfit was actually really freaking nice. A blue velvet jacket with a black V-Neck cut tank top. A red and black scarf wrapped around his neck and black skinny jeans on. In his ear was a circle with two or three small chains hanging from it. His grey eyes on me as I looked at his outfit. When I made eye contact with him he winked and smiled at me. My heart stopped honestly, with his flirtatious actions. I blushed and looked back at Tae who was also pretty dressed up for the party.

He had a purple choker with a tan shirt and a black blazer with little studs on it. His half pink half blonde hair scrunched up to make it have some texture to it but honestly his blue eyes is what got me every time.

The girl behind Jimin stepped in front of him leaning her body against him intentionally. Her natural blue eyes stared at me taking in my appearance. Her purple hair falling down to her waist in light curls. "I love your shoes. Are they comfy?" I glanced down before returning her gaze. "Oh well no not really but i'm sure i'll get over it. I don't remember where I got them to be honest I never wear them." I finished with a smile.

"I'm Aphrodite, nice to meet you." She waved and smiled. "I'm Rose." She turned her attention to Jimin who had his hands along her waist as they grinded to the music. She was honestly stunning her black poofy dress was mid thigh and she had three straps on each shoulder. Her red heels looking like they were made of suede material. She had on very cute gold accessories. She swayed her hips against Jimin who was whispering in her ear every few seconds. She just smiled at his comments flipping around in his arms and throwing herself onto him and making out with him.

I looked away since i felt awkward just standing and staring. I sipped on my drink settling my nerves a little more. Jungkook moved closer to me as someone pushed past him, entering the room. "God damm Kookie move." A very grumpy voice scolded Kookie for being in the way. He chuckled, "It's not my fault you're always behind me Yoongi. Maybe grow a little." Yoongi punches his arm, "shut up you fucking tree." I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear as i felt Yoongi's eyes on me.

"Rose? Is that you?" I snapped my head up and made eye contact with him. His mint hair in his eyes just barely. He had a white button up shirt on with a black chest harness on with two straps across his torso and over his shoulder. His tight black pants that had small tears in it was clinging to his thin fit body.He was so fucking hot like how can someone be this freaking attractive.

I kept my eyes on Yoongi feeling very bashful that he has to ask if it was me. "So what, maybe it is maybe not? You just gonna continue to insult me about how Kookie is using me as a joke and that i don't have curves or a pretty face?" I threw his own words back at him. He blinked a few times trying to comprehend what I just said to him. I could have sworn I saw sadness in his but if i thought i did it was gone now, replaced with a very hard to read expression.

"Look Rose it's not that i don't think your pretty it's just.." He started before Jimin stepped in front of Yoongi.

"Let's go upstairs and play some games i'm bored." We followed Jimin and Aphrodite up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was huge and I felt so small in it. We gathered around in a circle and TaeTae had brought like three bottles of alcohol up and placed them in the middle. "Spin the bottle? Anyone?" his sly grin making his cheeks poke out like a little bear. I had never played this game, to be honest i haven't had my first kiss yet. I mean I guess dream kisses don't count or else I would have lost it to Yoongi. My last thought made me blush at least five shades redder.

Starting on my lest was TaeTae, Jungkook, Aphrodite, Jimin, Yoongi, Hobi, and then me. We were spread out pretty evenly. I leaned over to Tae and whispered in his ear, "I'm nervous I have never played this game before." He laughed lightly and looked over at me our faces only inches away. I laughed nervously at the distance, "Don't worry baby girl you'll do just fine." I sat back upright as Jimin explained the rules.

"Alright so the person who spins the bottle in the middle of us has to kiss the person it lands on, if you bail out of the kiss you have to take two shots." He looked around at everyone and nodded,"Got it?" Everyone responded with yeahs and mmhm's.

"Who's gonna go first?" Jungkook asked as he grinned towards Jimin.

"I'll go." Hobi volunteered himself up he leaned forward spinning the half finished bottle. It spun around about three or four times before landing on TaeTae. Tae looked over at Hobi, a boxy smile across his face. "Come here Hobi." He gestured for Hobi to lean forward and Hobi complied with his request leaning across me as their lips met right in front of me. They pulled after a moment and sat back down. "Soft lips TaeTae." Hobi commented with a shy smile. They both laughed as they settled back in their spots. Tae drinking a few gulps before it was Yoongi's turn.

Yoongi was not paying attention as i kept catching his glances towards my direction. We locked eyes as he was starting to lean forward. My breathe caught in my throat as i stared into his chocolate colored eyes. Something stirred inside my heart as he started to spin the bottle. He looked away as he sat back down waiting for the bottle to stop. Aphrodite. She got on all fours and slowly crawled her way over to him he stayed criss crossed on the floor. She ran her hand up his chest and finally kissed him grabbing a handful of his Minty hair. She lingered a little too long in my opinion as she finally parted from his lips. She sat back down and licked her lips as if she had just finished a meal, staring at him hungrily. I started to feel annoyed as the game continued, sipping on my drink and occasionally taking a big gulp.

When it was finally my turn my head was all light and bubbly. I leaned forward a little unsteady and spun the bottle. I plopped back down as it spun. 'For the love of god don't have it land on Jungkook' I silently prayed, it stopped spinning.

XX

And yes I have majority of them wearing the fake love harness type outfits.🥵 I’m not sorry.😂

The next chapter y’all gonna be disliking Jungkook.

[utopiannamjoon]

A Knight in leather armor Chapter 6: Burning up

Genre: Angst, fluff, university au, biker au, enemies to lovers sort of thing

Pairing: Jeongguk x reader, Taehyung x reader

Major characters: Jeongguk, Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, OC

Warnings: Depictions of violence, swearing, blood, character injury, mention of child abuse

Words: 4,5k

Synopsis of the serie: You had an uneventful life, you went to uni and wanted to get by with no trouble but that with was thrown out of the window when you run into a biker, literally smashing your face against him at the university. Everything is changed from that point forwards.

Synopsis of this chapter: You and Jeongguk have nothing but time on your hands, you’re unsure and helpless but a simple command takes that even further with a revenge on Pogtan.

A/N: Remember to like, reblog and comment to know if you liked it and want to see more.  You shippers are gonna like this one

~

You leaned your back against the lumpy pillow of the couch twirling the polaroid in your hand that you found in Tae’s room. It was a selfie with you and the boys on the lake you used to hang around but you managed to forgot that photo being taken. All of you looked so happy. You all but Jeongguk grinned from ear to ear, he just smiled, bunny teeth peeking through the corner of his mouth, looking at you under his lashes with a warm expression. Taehyung was so full of life, grin firmly planted on his face and arms wrapped around you while his eyes tightly closed. The dramatic contrast from the Taehyung in the polaroid to the Taehyung laying on his bed was heartbreaking. What was once a shirt now tightened around him but it still didn’t stop the blood trickling out. He was pale and immobile. You spent every second wishing he would get back to what he was.

Every two minutes Jeongguk went in the room to check his pulse and breathing pattern, he couldn’t stop fidgeting around. It wasn’t changing- and honestly you didn’t know which was worse if it was to change in any direction. You hated yourself for not listening closely enough in healthcare and for not choosing to study nursing. And of course it being middle of the night, both of you were exhausted and on your nerves, you were unsure and filled with worry.

”We’re out of food,” Jeongguk sighed, holding the handle to the fridge. ”You wanna go or do I?” He spared a glance at you in between checking the cabinet for any crumbs. ”I’ll go.” You hoisted yourself up and took a final look at the photo before setting it down on the table. ”I’ll grab something to treat Tae as well.” ”Thanks.” He walked up to you and handed you cash from his pocket only for his eyes to fall to the table. His gaze glued on the polaroid and he took a long second. ”Actually... I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He had the picture in his other hand and sighed, deeply. What are the chances that something would happen to you too?

Looking out of the window, into the dark night, with only street lamps lighting the way, even if that, half of them were broken or destroyed, he couldn’t help the empty feeling grow inside his chest. "Dangerous for you to go there and I just... I... it....” ”Are you alright?” You asked when he couldn’t get the sentence out. It wasn’t like him to be like this. Jeongguk is a strong willed man and seeing him like this made you uncertain. ”I’m okay, it’s just... will - will you be fine with him?” ”I’ll take care of Tae, now go.” You ushered him, there was no point to wait around any longer. You were out of materials and one of you had to go, staying in and pondering about it would just waste time you didn’t know if you had. If Jeongguk felt better going out in the dark by himself rather than sending you then it would just be that way, so you watched as he closed the metal gate and disappeared into the darkness. You kneeled in front of Taehyung’s form on his bed, his breathing was shallow and his pulse was fairly regular pressed against your forefinger on his neck. That’s a good sign, right? You stroked his hair behind his ear for it only to flop back on his forehead and eyes. It made sense as to why he would wear the bandana, he looked intimidating when his hair wasn’t in his face, especially when he furrowed his eyebrows. But when his hair would be swinging wildly, he looked cute and approachable, someone who your mom even fell for. Jeongguk had set him to lay on his stomach so that you had access to Taehyung’s cut, and to prevent for the stitches from opening if Taehyung woke up or stirred. You dabbed a cottonball in pure alcohol and lifted up his shirt and opened up the bandages. You had no idea what to do, before all this happened the worst injury you’ve ever seen was when your father cut the tip of his finger off while cooking when you were young. He just put a band-aid on it and ordered pizza instead with few curse words along the way. You swiped the wet cottonball on Taehyung’s cut, to clean it, preventing the likelyhood for an infection... but most importantly, feeling like you were useful. You couldn’t help the thoughts of the worst happening invading your mind. What if Tae didn’t make it? It wouldn’t take much for his system to stop working all together. The only thing going for him was that he is young and healthy, and that the cut didn’t puncture any organs - if it had you and Jeongguk would be completely useless. There was a light knock on the door which made you hum of how polite of Jeongguk was to let you know he was coming in. His politeness turned down when the banging got louder and harder. ”Don’t you have keys?” You scoffed as you went to open the door for him, ”A key would be a good investment - YOONGI!” Yoongi held his side and shuffled past you. He didn’t quite make it to the couch before collapsing, his torso hitting the soft material but his knees hitting the floor. It didn’t take long for you to see the bruises covering his arms and face, just from his clothes it was evident he  had a rough night. His left eye was swollen shut and his lip busted open. A dry patch of blood covered his cheek and chin. ”Hey, I’m back! There was a package of those parts Yoongi sent to be painted for the crappy bike, they’re back already, so fast.” Jeongguk came in with a cardboard box in his hands, shopping bag on top, it was too big for him to see you from behind. He set it on the table. ”How’s Tae?” Jeongguk asked and finally got his head lifted to your horrified eyes staring at Yoongi. His eyes changed from the casual look into a worried one, his eyebrows rose and pupils widened. He dropped on his knees next to Yoongi. ”What the fuck happened? What did they do?” His eyes wandered around Yoongi’s tortured body. ”Give... me... water...” You hopped over Jeongguk’s legs and got the first cup you saw while he helped Yoongi on the couch. His face twitched and eyes shut from the move up. You handed the cup to him to which he reached forward, ”Thanks — AH AHHH!” The pain was too unbearable to  keep silent. ”I think these fucks broke my ribs.” He lifted up his torn shirt from the side to expose his ribcase. Colors of red and purple covered his left side and chest. ”This is so fucked but I don’t know which god to thank that you’re doing better than Tae.” Jeongguk said and tilted his head to examine the damage on the dark purple spot on his side. ”There’s something broken in there for sure.” ”Yeah... Wait - He’s alive?” Yoongi’s eyes shot up to Jeongguk’s and then to yours. ”Is he really?” he asked, eyes glowing and filling with hope they didn’t have a second ago. ”He is still breathing but got a nasty cut. We’re lost without you, we don’t know what to do.” You rubbed your forearm and pouted, this wasn’t a normal situation in the slightest. What broke you even more was that Yoongi had spent the night in the belief that Taehyung was gone. Yoongi sighed deeply of relief and his eye twitched from the pressure to his side from the inhale. ”They asked for invitations for his funeral.” You didn’t need to look at Jeongguk to feel him boiling over next to you. His fist tightened and lips pulled a flat line. The intention wasn’t to just hurt, it was to kill and shake everyone involved. ”How much blood did he lose?” ”Quite a bit... I don’t know how much or certain.”

Yoongi nodded and took a moment to himself before speaking, “They stole everything I had on me, including our money and my bike keys,” he leaned his arm on the arn of the couch and smirked, one eyebrow raised high and teeth peaking from his mouth, “Hey Jeongguk, ain’t that financial ruin?”

“Do you mean it?” Jeongguk’s eye lit up and his pupils grew, along with the bunny smile that was no longer cute but sadistic. You weren’t sure what was going on, you weren’t in on this.

“Yup, cause that to ‘em,” Yoongi nodded.

“Are you going to be fine if I leave?” Jeongguk asked. You looked at him, he bit his bottom lip and had his gaze pressed on the wall towards the dozens of polaroids. You never thought they’d be into revenge. ”Tae’s in the other room?” Yoongi asked. ”Go. I’ll take care of him.” Go where? It’s like he knew what was going to go down. ”Take her with you, nothing good will come out of this if she’s not there.” Jeongguk nodded and pressed his finger on your arm to motion you to follow him. You were uneasy leaving Yoongi and Taehyung for that matter, but he assured you they’d be fine. You followed Jeongguk to the garage. "Grab that,” Jeongguk pointed at a black gas can while searching for the keys he stole for the rat truck. ”It’s heavy...” You breath out and grew nervous by the second of what he had in mind. He picked up two larger red gas cans and set them on the pick up truck, before he slammed the door after himself. ”What’s in it?” You asked when you got in after him, but you knew, you just hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was. He hummed with the sadistic smirk making its form on his face, ”Gasoline.” ~ You pulled over next to the cornfield near Pogtan’s wooden hut and their barn. Jeongguk hopped out of the car and picked up the two cans from the back and waited for you to come aswell, trying to ignore the excitement he carried. You got your smaller can and struggled to follow him in to the maze. He carried more and bigger gas cans than you did but it was so effortless from him. You were breaking a sweat from just the one, heavy, can you pulled along with you. ”I never thought that accidentally opening the door for Yoongi would lead me to sabotaging others,” you joked to lighten up the mood made from the lack of communication and the intention he had in mind when you had finally reached the marijuana plants in the middle of the field. ”You thought it was me?” Jeongguk looked up from opening the latch of the gas can. He sounded surprised with his voice dropping just a bit. ”Yeah...?” ”You thought?!” His voice rised further than you would’ve believed, he looked offended. ”Don’t you make sure who it is? What if it was anyone else than Yoongi? Look what they did to Tae, they could’ve done something worse to you like -” ”Don’t you think I can handle myself? Do I always need protection from you?” You had to cut him off, it wasn’t the first time Jeongguk went on a rant of how dainty you were. He was no longer slouched over the gas can so he stood tall and was honestly intimidating. ”I know you don’t need me.” The words that left his mouth got you confused. ”I’ve known since you told me to fuck off and you genuinely meant it, I could see it from your eyes. You don’t need anyone to protect you but I need to do it. I know you don’t need me” he lowered his gaze away from your face, ”it’s me who needs you.” You were mindblown, you couldn’t say anything, your mouth fell open and words got stuck in your throat. You were expecting him to blow up but not like this, he was spilling his deepest emotions and not rage. ”They can beat me, violate me, do unforgiven things to me but once they touch my loved ones I will make sure they join hell with me. There are three people that I love and they’ve touched every single one of them. They wanted to kill Tae, they broke bones on Yoongi - Which they’ve never done before. I can count the times they’ve hit Yoongi on my two hands. He is usually left alone.” He paused for a while and turned down his volume, ”They’ve kidnapped you once for bait, what’s to say that next time isn’t way worse? I can’t live with that idea.” You mirrored his expression of pure worry but your throat was dry and you didn’t say anything. These are the kind of words you once expected from Jimin but when he failed to deliver them, you forgot the whole idea of someone caring so much about you. But then there was Jeongguk. He went out of his way to make sure you’re safe, even though he knew you could handle it yourself. He wanted to be that safety for you, not because you needed it, but because he cared enough to provide it - what was even better, he didn’t expect anything back. There was something in his eyes, they glowed in the dark and was full of something you couldn’t quite catch. Jeongguk sighed and picked up the open gas can. He said his piece and if you had nothing to say then it was a done deal, he thought. He walked in between the pot plants and started pouring, spilling the fuel everywhere. You went around the plants and threw gasoline everywhere you saw fit. It was more difficult than expected, the gas can would shift its weight around on every move, you struggled with that. Jeongguk opened his second gas can and knocked it down on the ground. ”Won’t this land us in jail?” You threw your empty can along with the full one he knocked down. ”The cops won’t care and they wouldn’t tell on us for destroying drugs.,” Jeongguk shrugged and started pouring a trail leading out of the maze. ”They deserve this for nearly ending Tae’s life.” ”Why did they target him exactly?” ”Simple,” Jeongguk shrugged again and pursed his lips, ”Tae killed Poodle’s uncle.” ”Huh?!” You snapped your head at him - or rather his back. He was scrouched over, making sure the trail was intact, ”You’re not serious.” ”You know,” he started as he looked at the shimmering trail, ”Tae has a little sister whom he adores so much, I think that’s why he is so overly protective over you.” He shot you a small smile that soon fell down. ”Poodle’s uncle did something to her... we don’t know what and Tae refuses to speak about it.” You didn’t want to entertain that thought for longer, what ever it was it couldn’t be anything anyone could accept. ”So he... killed him...?” ”Just one deep cut from his stiletto knife was enough... of course Tae knew what to do and twisted the knife so his chances of survival grew to minimal.” Jeongguk set down the gas can he just emptied, ”Tae caught him in the middle of an alley trying the same to some other girl.” He said while still looking at the ground, you weren’t sure if it made easier for him to talk about. He shook his head and moved on the topic.

He dug his hand into his pocket and gave you a box of matches, ”Wanna do the honors?” You lit up a match and threw it on the ground. The trail caught on fire instantly and ran inside the maze of corn into the pot plants, the fireball went up at the sky and grew aggressive, starting to flame up the corn as well.

Jeongguk smiled, from ear to ear. He looked proud with his chest puffed and hands by his side when he just admired what you had done. The smile grew bigger when faint sounds of shouting and yelling came from the otherside of the maze.

“What’s that?” You looked at him confused, you didn’t want to hurt anyone unintentionally. You doubted that he did this while whole of Pogtan was present.

“The beginning of the end my dear,” He smiled at you and shifted his weight from side to side. 

Four people ran around the side of the maze and stopped when they saw you two standing there. They were a good distance away but you recognized them all despite the darkness. The flames danced wild while no one made a move.

“Do you wanna make Jimin madder?” Jeongguk smirked, not shifting his attention away from the men.

“How?” You were quick to ask, you wouldn’t pass on that idea.

“Like this.” Jeongguk grabbed your head and slammed his lips against yours. His palms were set against your cheeks that quickly grew red from the sudden attention. It was a light kiss despite how fast it happened. You don’t know how long it lasted when he pulled away, he was unfaced unlike you. Your feelings shot in every direction and you didn’t know which of them to focus on.

”And this.” He smirked and you screeched when he picked you up in his arms. Your arm found it’s way around his neck and the other flipped off your enemies.

”Nice,” he laughed and walked with you in his arms towards the truck.

It felt amazing to finally realize that you really gave no fucks of what Jimin thought of you, you really didn’t care. He could hate you or love you and it really made no difference. Just before Bangtan thought you to be yourself and stood up to yourself you were so desperate for everyone’s approval. For once in your life you were allowed and expected to make your own decisions. 

So, to make another decision of your own, you set your finger under his chin to make him look at you. He lifted up his eyebrow and smiled, waiting for you to say something.

You slightly tilted your head and kissed him, this time savoring what was happening. He took no time to kiss you back but it was unexpected, he nearly missed his footing but thankfully regained his balance. Your fingers tangled in his ruffled hair all the while he worked to deepen the kiss.

You reached the truck and you were forced to pull away when he set you on your feet, but before you did you felt his lips form a smile on yours.

”We’ve got to run,” the coy smile was on his face, and eyes still glued to your lips.

He was right. You set someone’s property on fire and to avoid ass beating you had to go fast, really fast. This wasn’t the time to socialize despite of how much you wanted it. Jeongguk was a strong guy but he couldn’t handle four guys in a fight. 

Jeongguk slammed on the gas and with insane drifting you were finally off the wet grass of the morning hours.

Your mind wandered everywhere during the ride, he barely spoke but the smile on his lips never faded, neither did yours. Your heart raced and you couldn’t stop over-thinking, until he took a wrong turn that is. Your mind shut down from the giddy thoughts.

”Aren’t we going to the club?” You asked once Jeongguk pulled over the rat truck in a suspicious looking lot filled with rusty cars here and there. ”We’re gonna set this bad boy on fire,” he said, simply as always while tapping his hand on the dashboard, but before exiting the car he went through every corner and gathered any loot worth something. Jeongguk took a look at the empty bed of the pick up with the last gas can in hand, he frowned and shook it, ”We don’t have anymore left.” ”Then how’re we gonna destroy it?” Your stomach dropped and sweat pushed from your temples, you were starting to feel nervous. Did you have to destroy it in the first place?

”Don’t be so hasty,” Jeongguk winked and opened the gas can. He took out the pipe and stuck it in the gas tank of the truck. ”Let’s hope it’s fueled up…” he set his mouth on the top of the pipe and sucked, soon grimacing from the awful taste in his mouth.

”YUP!” Jeongguk spat out the gasoline and lifted up the pipe, making sure the fuel from it dripped everywhere, leaving a small, extremely flammable trail. He motioned his open palm in front of you, signalling you to step back. ”It’s going to explode once I set it on fire.” ”Isn’t that a movie thing,” you asked and backed off with small steps.

”Shooting at a gas tank won’t explode it. Igniting the fuel will because of the amount of fuel in such a small place.” He said and lit up the match. He gave you a look before he scraped the match on the box, he put it on the ground and bolted, “Go GO GO!”

The flames ignited faster and harder than you expected compared to what happened at the maze. The gas tank was full and it ignited with such a force it made a loud boom while the fire tore it’s way through the metal.

You had ran far enough with Jeongguk but the noise still startled you. You accidentally bounced against him to his surprise but he thought nothing of it, just wrapping his arms around you to make sure you won’t fall from your clumsyness.

Your back pressed against his chest as his arms took you in their care “We’ve got to hurry. The police actually might come here.” He couldn’t help but let the nervous chuckle out once he let you go but gracefully slithered his hand on yours.

You ran with his hand engulfing yours, you haven’t run this fast since you quit being on the track team, but this time it was better, it didn’t feel like a chore. Your heart was racing and beating out of your chest but not because of the spurt, because of him.

You reached the club house and Jeongguk let you in first. He set his hands on his thighs to huff in some air. You heard the police sirens pass the property, never stopping on the way. You could finally sigh from relief, though Jeongguk never doubted you’d actually get caught.

Yoongi sat on the couch where you had left him few hours earlier, his head was tilted at an angle to scan your and Jeongguk’s heavy breathing forms. You just rushed in without saying a word.

“Have you gotten up at all?” Jeongguk turned his head at Yoongi who just shrugged.

“With great struggle I have,” he said, “Y/n, I think you wanna go to say hello to someone,” he pointed his thumb at Tae’s room, “The stitches were better than I imagined, well done Jeongguk.” 

“Actually it wasn’t me, I couldn’t do it. Without her help I would’ve been useless.”

“You’re our savior then,” A smile spread on Yoongi’s often so serious face while looking at you, and just by his look you started to grow warm, you felt proud. 

“Go in,” he ushered you.

You peeked in the room to find Tae laying on his back, his head was prompted on a pillow against the board of the bed. His eyes grew into slits when you entered, just only then the smile following to his lips.

He was alive, some color had returned his face, his cheek were rosy. He didn’t look close to being healthy but much better than he was when you left, Yoongi really had a magic touch and to think he did this all the while being hurt himself.

You crouched down and swooped his hair away from his forehead, his smile growing even bigger.

He grabbed your wrist when you were pulling away, “It wasn’t my time to go,” he said slowly and silently all the while looking at you- His eyes followed the tear that fell down your cheek, he exhaled through his nose and hummed, “Thank you.” He pulled you closer and his hand found its place on your back and you buried your face in his neck with your eyes closed shut to prevent the tears from falling.

He was alive. You were an idiot to leave him in his condition to someone who was barely able to stand up by his own, but he survived. Your best friend pulled through during the time you had left him. What if he didn’t end up like this?

Taehyung shushed you, his voice vibrated against your ear but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You tried your best to not bawl your eyes out but it was unsuccessful.

”I think I’ve entered heaven,” he said and wasn’t shy of letting his amusement been heard, ”There’s an angel in my arms.”

Jeongguk sat down on the arm of the chair and stayed with Yoongi to let you have a talk with Taehyung first. He slightly smacked Yoongi’s knee. ”How’s Tae? And more importantly how’re you?”

”Good, surprisingly. I was about to take everything from our safe to take him to the hospital but then he opened up his eyes when I yelled from kicking my foot at the door,” he chuckled and shook his head. He looked at the swollen ankle he had prompted up on a chairm wondering how on earth he walked to the club like that. “I’m a bit beaten but it’s going to be alright, I’ll handle it. Good job on taking care of Tae.”

”I didn’t stitch him, she did. Without her he would’ve died, I don’t know what happened. I froze.”

”Everything’s fine now though, so it’s okay. And hey, Tae’s not in fatal conditition, I think he got knocked out from the shock and the pain,” he explained but to deaf ears. Jeongguk had his attention towards the open door to Tae’s room, he heard your cries and Tae’s words.

”You know you can’t throw a fit if she picks him over you.” 

”I know. She’ll pick anyone she likes as long as she is safe and happy,” Jeongguk returned his gaze and a sorry smile to Yoongi, ”... that brings me to this; do you remember our plan?”

”Which one.”

”The one to take down Pogtan.”

”Ah, operation Get ’Em, it’s my masterpiece, of course I remember.” Yoongi looked like a proud father, his lips pulled up along with his chin, “Why?”

”Let’s do it, we just have to take down Poodle, the others will fall along him. They need a leader and Poodle took advantage of their small minds.”

”It’s risky for you. Are you sure?”

”I am.” His lips pulled a tight line, at once something Jeongguk was hundred percent sure of.

”You’re doing this for her aren’t you?” Yoongi asked the obvious question to which there was an obvious answer that he could see through. Jeongguk didn’t answer though, he look at the ground as if he didn’t hear it. Yoongi slammed his hand on his back and smiled, 

“Let’s do it.”

[winterisakillerwrites]

Letting Go

One Shot: Last Minutes & Lost Evenings 8/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: It’s simple, but somehow, letting go’s the hardest part.

Rating: T

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the eighth part of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

“You can talk to me about it, you know.”

Rosemary’s eyes flashed up to Bryan’s, taking in the warmth and sincerity in his expression. She knew she could talk to him; that he would listen and understand, and that made everything so much worse. How could she begin to explain the whirling dervish that was her current state of mind? How could she tell the man who cared for her that she couldn’t make heads nor tales of the man who she believed, up until a week ago, cared nothing for her? How within a half an hour he’d managed to turn her world on its head? How despite everything, and wishing desperately that she didn’t, she still loved him?

Frustrated tears flooded her eyes, “I don’t know how…” to explain. How to make you understand that I don’t know what to feel. What to think. She hated this, hated the uncertainty.

Bryan smiled softly and placed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Just take however long you need. I’m here whenever you are ready.”

She wasn’t ready. Wasn’t sure she ever would be. She hated herself for that. Bryan didn’t deserve to have to deal with her emotional baggage. Her inability to just let the past go. She forced herself to sit up and offered him a watery smile. “I’m sorry.”

Bryan shook his head. “Don’t be. I know it must be difficult. I don’t know what happened between you two but I know you’re still reeling from it. And I meant it. Take however long you need to process. I’m not going to judge you.”

She wanted to laugh and cry. He was so patient. So understanding. And she couldn’t grasp why that seemed to grate. She did neither, simply nodding and trying to pull her attention somewhere, anywhere, else.

And it worked. At least for a little while. She went about her routine, pasting a smile on, trying to avoid both Bryan with his infuriating understanding and Jules with her quiet condemnation. It was exhausting. She knew that both meant well, in their own way, but Rosemary could barely keep her own grasp of the matter let alone navigate through theirs. She was angry and sad and could not seem to find a balance between the two. She hated that she still cared. Hated that he could still have such a pull on her. She’d moved on, they were over, why couldn’t she just let it go?

Bryan’s simple solution barely a week later had caught her completely off guard. They’d been sitting to breakfast on one of the rare mornings they both had off. She had her mug of tea halfway to her lips when he’d spoken.

“You should talk to him.”  

She gaped at him openly. She had to have misheard him. Surely he couldn’t mean… “What?”

“Talk to Tom,” he elaborated with a casual directness that only served to confuse her more.

“What? Why? What good is that going to do? He and I are done…” she flustered, trying to get her thoughts out coherently and failing.

Bryan shook his head. “No, you’re not. Not really. He still makes you angry. You’re never finished with anyone if they can still make you angry.”

Rosemary stared at him in amused disbelief. “Did you really just quote Doctor Who at me?”

A grin broke out across his face at her understanding. “So what if I did? It’s the truth. He’s still making you angry. There is still enough there that you need to deal with.” He sobered, eyes pleading with her. “Talk to him. Get it out, for your own sake.”

Rosemary nodded but did not answer. Torn between fury at his suggestion of further interaction and dismay at knowing he was probably right, she chose the practical route of silence. Screaming at Bryan would solve nothing. She wasn’t angry with him. Not really. He cared, he wanted to fix this. She knew that. But the thought of reaching out to Tom with her head still in shambles was terrifying.  

Bryan seemed to drop the subject after that and Rosemary was in no hurry to bring it up again. But still it nagged at the back of her mind. He’d had a point, leaving things as they were between her and Tom wasn’t working. He was still very much present in her life, despite her protests to the contrary. It wasn’t healthy, she knew that. She found herself, more and more often, thinking about what had happened between them; what he’d said to her and how much pain he’d caused. She wasn’t over it and pretending to be so no longer seemed to work. But understanding that and acting on it were two completely different things.

In theory it would be such a simple task; she‘d speak with Tom, tell him what she needed to tell him, and walk away. Finally let it and him go. And when she put her mind to it, it was easy to come up with the words to explain just how angry she still was. How much hurt he caused but not only rejecting her but lying to her about it. But that was in theory. She feared the actual task would be well beyond her.

She still had his number, or well what had been his number once upon a time she wasn’t even sure if it was still active, and she’d spent many mornings in her office with her phone in hand the dial screen cued up with his number set only to quickly close the damned thing and shove it back into her purse. She was a coward but honestly could self-preservation be considered cowardly? Probably. So she continued to hesitate, tried to put it solidly out of mind.

“Whatever the fuck it is you’re agonizing over, just get it over with already!” Jules’ stern voice called from the doorway of her office. Rosemary’s gaze darted upwards, dropping her phone soundly on her desk. “We’ve got a fuck ton of inventory to do, Rose. You need your head in the game. And right now, it’s really fucking not. So just call whoever it is you’re putting off calling and get it together.” And with that she sauntered back into the store front.

Rosemary stifled a nervous laugh and grabbed her phone, staring once again at the screen. Just do it and get it over with. Honestly it probably isn’t still connected. Just call and get the notion out of your head!

With shaking hands she hit the call button. It rang once. Twice.

“Rosie?”

She stood in front of the black metal gate. Why she agreed to this; agreed to here, she still didn’t know. This is a mistake, she told herself for the hundredth time. She spared a glance, once again, around the street. It was a nice neighborhood, far nicer than she was used to. Of course he’d live here.

The house was lovely, or at least it seemed that way from the outside. It was gated, that wasn’t a complete surprise given who he was, but didn’t seem pretentious. Well maintained. She didn’t know what to expect about inside and if she didn’t work up her nerve, she never would.

Why was ringing the bell such a terrifying prospect? Not the bell, she reasoned, it’s what’s waiting on the other side of it. And she felt foolish, letting her nerves get the better of her. How long would she continue to let them, let him, control her? She needed to do this, no matter how foolish the endeavor seemed. Bryan had been right. She needed to finally, finally, let this go. With determination she hit the call bell and waited.

She heard his voice, garbled and distorted by the speaker, quickly followed by the clank of the gate opening. She walked through and up towards the door, fighting the urge to turn tail and run. She could tell Bryan she tried but that it didn’t work. Maybe he would let it go then. But before she could make up her mind the front door opened and in it stood Tom, the expression on his face guarded but somehow hopeful.

He offered her a tentative smile but said nothing as he stood to the side and motioned for her to enter. She hesitated for a moment before steeling herself and walking into the house.

The hallway was sparsely furnished and neat. It suited Tom. The living room was much the same though the walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled with hundreds of books. She fought the urge to run to them and trace each cover gently and seek what treasures she instinctively knew he had hidden among them.  

She could feel his eyes on her but fought the urge to return his gaze. “You can look through them if you want.” Tom’s voice was steady but quiet. For a very brief moment she sincerely considered taking him up on the offer. It wold be so easy to lose herself in his books. But that’s not why I’m here, she scolded herself.

“No,” she answered, her voice harsher than she’d intended and away from the bookshelves. She grimaced then offered a small smile, “But thank you.”

An awkward silence fell between them. She hated it. Hated how the one person she’d felt completely comfortable with was now the one person she could barely stand to be near. She flicked her eyes towards Tom, watching how he shifted his weight from foot to foot, uneasy in his own space. Maybe meeting here had been a mistake. But they would need privacy for this and she could not bare to have him in her space. Not and be able to get through this.

He cleared his throat, finally seeming to come to a decision. “Would you like some tea?”

Wordlessly, she nodded and watched him head in the direction of what she assumed to be the kitchen. She did not follow but walked farther into the living room and settled on one of the arm chairs near the far wall.

She had always wondered what his home had been like, had imagined various designs and locations, and had always hoped to maybe one day see for herself. Be careful what you wish for…

Rustling sounds carried from the hall and soon he was walking back into the living room two mugs of tea in hand. She took hers and carefully blew into it before taking a tentative sip. It was just as she’d liked it. She cocked an eyebrow in his direction, surprised. He’d remembered and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He said nothing but inclined his head in understanding.

They sat quietly, each holding but not drinking their mugs of tea, as if they were talismans against their discomfort. The silence between them was silted and painfully awkward. She watched as he placed his mug in the side table and preceded to fiddle with the hem of his sweater absently then remove and clean his glasses. She knew she should say something; that she was the reason they were here in the first place, but she didn’t know what. Couldn’t seem to order the ideas that flooded her mind into any semblance of coherency.

Which was utterly ridiculous, she’d practiced this again and again in her mind. What she would say, how she would react. But that seemed to go to pot. Here she sat with him directly in front of her and her mind was jumbled. This should not be this hard. After all, the worst had already happened. She’d lived through it. This should be nothing.

Several minutes passed and still neither spoke. Rosemary wondered, humorlessly, who would be the first to break. Her eyes snapped up as Tom cleared his throat. It was an automatic gesture and she cursed herself for it. She could see the uncertainty and underlying pain in his eyes.

A small bolt of anger careened through her. How dare he look like the wounded party? Like he was the only one who hurt? She watched as he swallowed audibly and without preamble broke the silence between them “He seems like a good man.”

She blinked rapidly in confusion and whispered quietly, “Bryan?”

Tom nodded, a forced smile on his face. “He’s good to you?”

Rosemary choked back the urge to snarl that it was none of his business. How dare he even… “Yes, he is. He’s open and honest. I never have to guess where I stand with him.”  It was a low blow and she knew it. But it did little to stop the smug sense of satisfaction rushed through her as Tom flinch at her words. Guilt soon followed. Hurting him didn’t solve anything. It didn’t make anything better.

“And you’re happy?”

She swallowed then nodded. “As I can be.”

Another awkward silence passed between them. Her fingers drummed against the mug in her hand. The tea inside had long since gone cold but she made no move to put it down or replace it. It was her shield as ridiculous as that notion was. Like a porcelain mug would save her from interacting with the man before her. Would keep her from making what she knew was a colossal mistake.

She shouldn’t have come here. What good did hashing any of this mess out actually do? Round and round they seemed to go. She was angry, he apologetic. It didn’t solve anything. But she couldn’t seem to make herself go. God it was such a mess.

“Luke was pissed at me, you know. Bloody furious,” Tom blurted, looking more than a little abashed at his own honesty. “He still is to be honest.”

Rosemary stared at Tom in confusion. “What…”

“He was pissed at me because he knew I fucked up. I was happy, tired and working like mad, but happy. He could see that. He could see that being with you made me happy,” he sighed, “He wasn’t thrilled at first, when we first started…He thought I was being a fool, starting something with someone I didn’t know. That he wasn’t sure we could trust.” He raised his eyes to catch her gaze. “But by the end I think he knew you were something special. Someone important. Someone trustworthy. And even now…You could have lambasted me in the press. Dragged my name through the mud…”

“And said what?” She snapped, eyes shining with frustration. Why couldn’t he understand? She spat the next words at him, not caring that he flinched at them. “That ‘I was Tom Hiddleston’s fuck buddy until I was stupid enough to catch feelings and even stupider to tell him I did’? Jesus, Tom! Like I wanted to rain that kind of hell down onto me and mine?”

His eyes widened, hurt swirling in their blue depths. He seemed to struggle to find his words. Finally, he choked out, “Is…Is that what you think you were…?”

Something in her snapped. She glared and let loose the words that had been volleying around her mind since his painful confession nearly a month prior. “What else was I supposed to think? We never did ANYTHING outside of my flat. You came to me and we talked and then we fucked. You never seemed to want anything else from me.”

She raised her hand, silencing the protest on his lips. “And I know I never asked for a label for what we were doing. That’s on me. I didn’t want to shout what we were doing to the rooftops but I wanted to feel like I mattered. Like I was more than a friendly ear and a warm body. All I wanted was to hear you say I mattered.”

“You matter. Rosie…God, you matter so much that it terrified me. It still does! My life is wonderful and exciting but it comes with a really shitty price. It’s one that I am willing to pay for myself but I couldn’t ask you to do the same.” He ran his hands through his hair, eyes locking on Rosemary’s, pleading with her to understand.  “You have a wonderful, quiet life, how could I drop my chaos into it? I fuck things up. I run in headfirst and don’t stop to think about the consequences or who I drag in with me.

He reached for her hand but stopped just short of touching his fingers to hers as she shrunk back from him. Tension rolled off of him in waves, but he soldiered on, eyes locked on hers. “And I couldn’t do that to you,” Another pause. “Or at least that’s what I told myself. You mattered far too much to be sacrificed at the altar like that. So I tried to set you free. Tried to minimize the damage. And I only made it worse. I’m sorry. I’m so unbelievably sorry. And I know that doesn’t fix it and it certainly doesn’t excuse it. But I don’t know what else I can do.”

The uncomfortable silence fell once again. Rosemary dropped her eyes from his and shifted in her seat, finally placing the long cold mug of tea on the table. She couldn’t bring herself to continue to look at him. Half feared that doing so would make her resolve crumble. And that was something she refused to allow. Not now.

“I wanted to hate you,” Rosemary whispered, breaking the silence. She still refused to meet his gaze, knowing that if she did so, she would never get the words out. And she needed to get them out. Needed him to hear them. As she spoke her voice grew steadier, her words louder and more sure. “God, everything would be so much simpler if I could just hate you. I tried and I can’t. And that makes it so much worse. You lied to me, Tom. You broke my heart. You decided that I couldn’t handle being with you; being in a relationship with you. Sex was fine but god forbid real feelings get involved! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?” She took a deep breath, “God, I want to hate you…But I can’t,” she paused again to steady herself. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me. I love you, Tom, and I want so badly to forgive you but I can’t. Not now. Because if I do I’ll let you back in and I can’t do that. I can’t trust you and I can’t trust myself with you.”

“That…That’s fair enough,” Tom whispered. He clasped his hands tightly together in his lap and paused to steady himself. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I did. And I will have to live with that. I just want you to know I didn’t mean it and I would do anything, anything to take it back.”

She shook her head and forced herself to meet his eyes. “You can’t,” she choked out.

His nodded stiffly, hands resting firmly on his knees. His eyes were reddened and he quickly rubbed at them. “I know,” He took a steadying breath, “but that doesn’t stop me wishing it weren’t the case.” His eyes locked on hers in earnest. “What can I do? Tell me what you need me to do, Rosie. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

She blinked at him and fought against her own tears. “Just leave me be.” She took a shallow breath, her hands clasped desperately in her lap. “After I leave just please let me go. I need time to get over this. To get over you and what happened. I can’t do that if I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to pop up like you seem so wont to do.” She felt the tears spill over and hastily wiped them away. “And I know that sounds selfish, especially since this time I’m the one who sought you out. I just…I needed to finish this properly. I can’t keep being angry with you. It’s not fair to me and it’s certainly not fair to Bryan. I need to let this…Let us go. So please, please just leave me be.”  

Tom nodded, no longer bothering to fight the tears. “Okay,” he spoke, his voice shaking. “Okay.” He paused and took a deep breath. “If that is what you want I will.”

“It is.”

He nodded once again before standing, grabbing the discarded tea mugs, and disappearing into the kitchen. Rosemary fought to compose herself. This was what she’d wanted; what she needed. But it hurt. God, did it hurt.

Not trusting her emotions to hold for much longer, she called garbled farewell and quickly left. She hurried down the street, trying in vain not to think; not to dwell on her warring emotions. The cool air stung her cheeks as she walked past the nearest tube station. She couldn’t face the idea of being stuck in a crowded carriage with her emotions running haywire.

She didn’t remember much of the walk, barely even registered that she’d taken it when she found herself standing at Bryan’s door. She had no conscious thought of coming here. No recollection of the decision. But there she stood. She knocked and quickly wiped at her face. The door opened, she took in Bryan’s concerned face, and allowed herself to fall apart in his arms.

Next

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Next Door Neighbors (Part Two) - Gerard Way x Reader

Request: Ok can you please make a part two? & CAN U PLEASE DO A VAMPIRE GERARD X READER ? WITH FEMALE READER AND CAN IT BE V SOFT UWU THANKS ALSO UR SO TALENTED AND I LOVE U AHAHA

Reader: female (probably)

Word count: 3 218

A/N: just for fun i did a little animation that goes with this story (cause i can ^^)

Part One

It had almost been a year since you had first met the mysterious man on the cemetery in person. Gerard and you had spent many nights together after that, talking about whatever you could think off, be it politics, stories from your childhood or random jokes. Often you found yourself discussing things like the influence of the moon on the human psyche, cryptozoology, divination or astrology. Since Gerard had been raised more than 200 years before you, it was interesting to hear what he told you about his youth, and often he stopped in front of gravestones to tell you about the people who lay buried there.

Much to your disappointment, your time in the small town came to an end far too quickly for your liking, and only two weeks after you had met Gerard, you had to leave him, to go back to your life, the one where you had a job, lived in a cozy apartment, and went out for drinks with your colleagues.

But now you were back. It had almost taken you an entire year to finally get some vacation time, and find the courage to return to the familiar streets of the city you grew up in.

Excitedly you stirred your car around the last corner into the street your house was standing in, facing the cemetery, which now came into the view as well. You immediately noticed the change that you had never expected to happen. Even though it was early afternoon, the iron gates were closed, and a heavy chain wrapped around the bars. Behind the fence you noticed grass growing on the usually well-kept stone paths, and the few graves you were able to see, looked abandoned, weeds growing high, no fresh flowers, and no single person wandering amongst the gravestones, visiting the last resting place of their loved ones.

Confused you drove up to your parents’ house and got out of the car, continually looking back over your shoulder at the cemetery. Your mother seemed to have noticed your arrival since she waited in the door as you walked up the few steps to the small house.

“You made it,” she cheered, wrapping her arms around you.

“Hey mum,” you smiled, but you were still thinking of the cemetery. What had happened there?

You did not dare asking that question until you were sitting at the dinner table. The usual “How have you been? Anything new?”- questions had been asked and answered, so you finally decided to bring up what had happened to the piece of land in front of your childhood home.

“Oh, the city council, or whoever decides these things, closed it down,” you dad explained between two bites.

“They said most people prefer to get buried at that new graveyard at the edge of town, because it also has the funeral parlor is right next to it, and so is the chapel and all,” your mother continued explaining.

You nodded, and continued eating, but your attention drifted away from the conversation. If they had shut down the cemetery, where was Gerard? Was he still there, hiding in one of the mausoleums only to show himself at night? Had he moved? If so, where? Where would a vampire who barely knew a living soul move? It destressed you, imagining Gerard not living here anymore. To you, he belonged here the same way gravestones belong on a graveyard.

Time did not pass fast enough for you that evening, until you finally announced you were going to meet some friend from back in high school. That was obviously a lie, since the main reason for your visit was to see Gerard again. You threw on a rain coat and some sneakers before you hastily made your way out of the front door, over to the other side of the street, and then along the fence of the cemetery towards the front gate.

Just as you had seen this afternoon, there was still the chain wrapped around the bars, making it impossible to push the two wings open far enough to slip in. But growing up next to and regularly sneaking into the cemetery as a teenager, had prepared you for such a moment. You continued walking along the high iron fence until you had reached a part of the street where no houses had been built and even the street lanterns had given up their service.

It would have been creepy for most people, but you did not care, as you took hold of the bars of the iron fence, and placed your foot to rest on a crossbar, pushing yourself off the ground. You remembered the first time your friends had convinced you to break into the cemetery by night, none of you had known how to properly climb the fence, and you had torn your shirt, but now, even after not having done this for years, your muscle memory kicked in, and you skillfully climbed over the spiky ends of the fence, letting yourself fall to the soft, grassy ground on the other side.

A grin carved into your face and you quickly straightened your jacked, before you walked off into the direction of the mausoleums where you remembered having met Gerard last year.

You stumbled along the dark paths, trying to keep yourself from falling over gravestones and bumps in the ground. Usually you would have brought a torch for nightly adventures, but the faint light of a wandering torch on a closed down cemetery would only have drawn people’s attention to your little mission. And what were you to tell the police if someone decided to call them? “Oh, I’m just looking for a friend who used to live here, right over there in this one rich families’ mausoleums.” Yeah, definitely not.

Annoyed you realized that your rain coat did in fact come to a use, when light, tiny droplets of rain started falling from the dark clouds that hid the moon. You pulled up the hood, trying to cover your head from the water, and continued walking over the cemetery, slowly beginning to feel uneasy about the situation. Something was off, something was wrong, your instinct told you. The little hairs on your neck rose, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You furrowed your brows and looked around, expecting to see someone watching you, but you were alone.

The rain increased, the droplets turning into drops of cold water, and an icy wind started blowing, before you finally reached the first mausoleum. It was not the one Gerard had always hidden in, but you knocked on the heavy door anyway and tried to push it open, but to no avail.

So you moved on, and tried your luck with the second mausoleum, ignoring the feeling of dread. This time you tried more, knocked longer, pushed harder, even quietly called for Gerard. Your voice got lost in the howling of the wind that had picked up, and the drumming of the rain. What had started out as a harmless drizzle, had quickly turned into a full blown storm.

After your second try had failed just as pitifully as the first, you ran on to the third door. Lightning stroke across the sky, flashing the abandoned cemetery in white light for a split second, blinding you and leaving you startled, but you quickly remembered why you were here and continued your search.

By now your trousers were wet with the cold rain that had been blown against you by the strong wind, and the time between lightings decreased. A particularly strong gust of wind ripped the hood off of your head, causing the loose strands of your hair to dance in the air. Annoyed you brushed the hair out of your face, trying to get back your vision before you lifted your hand to the iron door of the last mausoleum. This was the one Gerard used to live in, and you were pretty certain that, should this one be empty too, you would go home and continue your search tomorrow. You were freezing, and honestly: there were nicer things than searching a cemetery at night during a heavy thunder storm.

To your surprise the heavy door swung open at the contact with your hand as you reached forward to bang your fist against it. You did not even hesitate for a moment before you slipped into the strange building.

Inside it was a lot warmer than out in the rain, but also darker. Resting your back against the door, you waited for a few moments, trying to calm your shivers and allowing your eyes to adjust to the minimal lighting.

When finally the black turned into different shades of grey, you recognized the room you had wished yourself back to so often during the past months. The two stone sarcophagi that were placed in niches the walls left and right of the room had been remodeled into furniture.

The right one held a mattress, pillows and blankets, while the left one was used as a shelf, holding a box of cereal, a carton of UHT-milk, a few plates and bowls and some cutlery. The sarcophagus at the end of the room had been turned into a mixture of a table and a bookshelf. An armchair had been pushed to its side, using it like a side table. On the other end, opposite the chair, heaps of books were stacked onto each other. The middle of the room been had turned into a fire place, burned wood and ashes resting on the old stones, but they had turned cold.

Shivering from the icy wind, you strolled into the room. Not much had changed, except for the brand of the cereal and some of the books, allowing you to hope that Gerard had not moved and was still living here. You brushed off the wet rain coat and walked over to a suitcase that was hidden in a corner in the back. You knew Gerard kept his clean clothes in there, so you quickly exchanged the dripping wet trousers for some dry sweat pants, hoping that Gerard would not mind. After all you were determined to wait here for him. So you sat down on the bed, taking off your shoes and crossing your legs. You leant against a wall, facing the door and closed your eyes for a moment. The smell around you reminded you so much of Gerard, and feeling the pillow in your back brought back memories of the few nights you had spent here, talking about whatever you liked, cuddled into the wooly blankets, and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

You were woken by a hand on your shoulder softly shaking you awake. Sleepily you rubbed your eyes before you blinked them open. The room was dimly lit by a fire, and the smell of Chinese noodles filled the air, making you perk up. A broad smile on his face, black hair hanging into his eyes, Gerard stood next to you, smiling down on you gently. It took you a moment to properly comprehend what had happened, but once you had remembered the events of the night, you leapt forward, throwing your arms around the still grinning man and wrapped him in a tight hug, which he immediately returned.

“Now that’s a surprise,” he chuckled, tightening the hug a little, nuzzling his nose into your still slightly damp hair. “Do you always break into your friends’ houses when they’re not home?”

Laughing you pushed him away, now able to take a better look at him. His hair had grown a little longer since last year, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have faded. He was wearing the same black coat you already knew, but the dark shirt he had always worn had been replaced with a black band shirt.

“Only when it’s super stormy outside,” you joked.

The smile at spread across Gerard’s face made your heart melt, and you felt your insides turning into warm, excited butterflies fluttering around nervously, but at the same time happily. While your mind was still doing cartwheels, unable to quite catch up on the fact that finally, after so long, you were reunited with Gerard, he had already wrapped you into another hug, one that lingered longer this time, both of you relaxing, and soaking in the comforting sensation of each other’s presence.

When Gerard pulled away, his expression was soft and loving. You felt yourself drowning in his beautiful hazel eyes, and his finger gently massaged the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him again, until his lips met yours carefully.

The kiss knocked the breath out of you, even though it was not demanding at all. The mere thought of Gerard and you kissing had made your heart speed up during the past months, and now experiencing it, it was better than you ever could have imagined. Gerard’s lips were soft, and when he felt you responding, just as carefully as he had started out, he could not help the smile that tucked at them. Slowly you wrapped your hands into his black hair, weaving his silky curls around your fingers, and pulled yourself closer to him. His hands wandered from your neck down your back, the warmth of his skin seeping through your clothes, making shivers run down your spine.

When Gerard pulled away, his cheeks had blushed to a soft pink, and both of you giggled, before he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off the matrass on the sarcophagus that you had still been sitting on, setting your feet down on the uneven floor of the mausoleum. You smiled at Gerard, your fingers wrapped into the smooth fabric of his shirt, and he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I brought Chinese noodles, if you ask really nicely, I might consider sharing,” he offered, making you shake your head at him in amusement.

“It’s fine, I had dinner at my parents’,” you explained, following Gerard to the other sarcophagus on which the cutlery and food was placed.

“I insist,” he laughed, grabbing two forks and the paper box with the warm noodles, “Come on.”

He sat down the things on the big sarcophagus, and sat down in the armchair, pulling you into his lap, making you giggle.

Quietly talking about what had happened to both of you during the months you had spent apart, you shared the box of noodles. Gerard confessed that after the cemetery had been closed, he had considered moving, trying to find some new place to stay at, after all, after two hundred years of living side by side with his brother’s grave, he felt like it was time to move on. He had thought about finding you, but in the end he had been unsure if you had even wanted to stay in contact with him and he had no clue about where you lived anyway. So he had stayed where he was, hoping, that when you came to visit your parents, you might pay him a visit.

The thunderstorm started to subside, and the box of noodles was long empty, when the darkness outside the single window faded into a dark grey. Sleepily you rested your head against Gerard’s shoulder, who had wrapped his arms around you, his cheek brushing against your hair and his breath fanning over the skin on your neck.

“You could come with me,” you mumbled, finally voicing the thought that had scrambled around your brain since he had mentioned leaving this place. “We could find a nice little place for you, not too far away from mine…”

“Or I could just move in with you,” Gerard chuckled.

You lifted your head up, your eyes meeting his, curious to find out if he was serious. When you found no sarcasm in them, you laughed and shook your head before kissing Gerard again. Still chuckling he leant in, his breath fanning over your skin. You had been sitting with him for hours now, but you still felt a comfortable tickle wherever he touched your skin.

“Really, can I,” he asked when you had pulled away, your forehead now resting against his.

“Do you really think I could say no to that,” you laughed, pecking him on the lips again before you got up from his lap with a groan.

“Where are you going,” he whined, already missing the close proximity he had had to you.

“I have to go home; my parents will wonder where I am,” you explained.

Gerard nodded and watched as you collected the rain coat and you shoes, which were still lying on the floor, and slipped them back on.

“Are you going to come over again tonight?”

You turned to look at the dark haired vampire who still sat in the armchair by the big sarcophagus.

“Are you going to bring food again?”

Gerard laughed lightheartedly at your response.

“Of course I’ll come,” you grinned, walking over to him again for a last kiss before you had to leave the mausoleum, the cemetery, and this beautiful dream. But if Gerard really wanted to come with you, if he really wanted to give the two of you a chance, then soon this, this thing that now felt as far away from reality as a fading dream, would be your home, your reality. The thought made your stomach twist into knots of excitement.

“You look good in my clothes,” Gerard whispered, when he pulled away after the kiss, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of the sweat pants you had stolen from him.

“You are unbelievable,” you laughed and turned away, walking over to the rusty door. “Sleep well, see you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” Gerard repeated, and watched with an aching heart how you opened the door just far enough to slip out, careful that no direct sunlight would fall into the mausoleum. But you would be back, in just a few hours you would be back in his arms, and if it would be his choice, he would keep you by his side forever.

Outside the air was stingingly cold, but the oxygen that filled your lungs was a nice change to the smoke from the fire inside Gerard’s hide out. The grass underneath your shoes was wet from the rain, but the air smelled of fresh grass and earth, and of spring and flowers, and even though the sky was covered in thick, grey clouds, you could not help but feel absolutely blissful. Maybe you could bring a photo album tonight, show Gerard some old pictures, and make him talk more about his past, about the adventures he had experienced. Or you could just cuddle, wrapped into each other’s embrace. No matter what you would decide to do, there would be plenty of time to do whatever you could think of.

Your thoughts still back with Gerard, you wandered back over cemetery, the knee high grass brushing drops of rainwater against the sweatpants you were wearing, making a small way into the overgrown grass between the gravestones, and you wondered if a little child would see you from their window, just like you always had seen Gerard when you had been little.

[the-butterwitch]

Puberty

---

Harry time travels to Wool's Orphanage with a murderous intent. Puberty hits everyone. Even the unsuspected.

T, Tomarry, Time travel, Oneshot. Thanks to my best friend and BETA @harumackerel-is-my-otp

---

Harry inhaled deeply. If the gates of Wools Orphanage seemed grim, the building beyond them was even worse.

Why? Why had he done it?

If you could go past in the time, would you kill Adolf Hitler when he was a child?

Indeed, he would. Everyone who had seen his loved ones die in the war would.

His brows furrowed in a determined expression.

He had to do it. For Sirius. For his parents! The parents he didn't knew at all. The parents that died in order to make him survive.

His wand pressed gently against his lower back as he went through the gates and walked along the driveway of the courtyard.

His decision was monstrous. It was against everything he believed for his entire life. Against what Dumbledore taught him - power of love! Ah! Love didn't spare the life of his godfather. Maybe love saved him, Harry Potter, but what's the point of living alone, without your family?

Harry knew who had torn his family from him. His name was Tom Riddle. And now he was inside that building, young and harmless - relatively harmless compared to Harry, who fought an entire magic war and confronted the adult, non-human version of him.

Tom Riddle didn't expect an attempt on his life, and Harry would do his best to look like a muggle. A stupid, weak muggle he would have despised. And this would have been fatal.

+++

Mrs Cole's eyes were still blurred from his confundus as she archived the (completely white) paper he had handed her.

-I see. It's a very sad story - she said, absently. He hummed in response, unsure of what story her memory and her fantasy had created to fill in that useless piece of paper.

-Can I stay here? - he asked.

She nodded. -Sure. Where there is space for ten people… - She didn't end her sentence - in a couple of years you will become ad adult and you will do what you want, but, until that time, you will be under my responsibility, as your uncle wants.

Harry flinched. As your uncle wants? Her brain taught her a story about a uncle who despised him and abandoned him in a sad orphanage? He wanted to laugh. It was so ironic!

Mrs Cole looked around, obviously looking for someone from the staff. The entire building was quiet, he could hear, from far away, noises of forks, or spoons, against bowls and dishes. Everyone was having lunch at that time, it seemed. Mrs Cole furrowed her brows, discontent, until some footsteps were heard, approaching from the (Harry suspected) orphanage's canteen.

Mrs Cole's face relaxed, but just a little bit. She hesitated for a second before saying:

-Oh, Tom, you arrived at the right time!

Tom? Harry's heart skipped, taken aback.

-There's a new child - explained Mrs Cole, pointing him with a gesture of the hand - well, not a child, he's around your age.

He turned.

Sixteen years old Tom Riddle, identical to the boy of the diary, stood a few feet away from him.

Harry felt electricity along his spine. Harry's eyes must have revealed something, because Tom's gaze, from uninterested, for just a second became puzzled - one eyebrow had risen an half inch, disappearing behind the curled tuft of hair.

-I can show him the orphanage, Mrs Cole- he said returning impassive.  

- Thank you - Mrs Cole said, as she hesitated again. She seemed to analyse Harry's appearance, as if she hoped he would be strong enough to resist Tom if he attacked him. No, Mrs Cole, even the strongest man on the earth, if muggle, can't withstand a evil and talented wizard. Even a sixteen years old one. Maybe if he's prepared and he has a gun… how hysterical would have been - Harry thought, staring at his enemy - to kill Tom Riddle shooting in that pretty face? Darn, he wanted a gun now.

-Well, dinner it's at six- informed Mrs Cole before leaving - Tom  will explain you anything. You're dismissed.

Harry nodded again, and followed Riddle, who begun to walk down the corridor.

+++

-And this is the library - said Riddle, as he opened the second room of the first floor. Harry was grateful he was used to explore the infinite, labyrinthine corridors of Hogwars. He found hard to focus on their little tour around the orphanage, but he managed somehow. His eyes where only for Tom.

His back (stabbed). His hair (pulled). His nose (he at least had one, so Harry could break it). His white long throat (diffindo).

He licked his lips, as Riddle logorrheically explained something totally uninteresting about the fucking library.

-are you listening? - Riddle said.

- Honestly, not- he answered. It would have been hilarious, making him angry.

But Riddle was not angry. His shoulders rose and lowered, following his sigh.

That was unexpected. Such a… normal, human, colloquial gesture, from him.

Was that a smile?

Was he smiling? What the fuck! Harry was more alarmed by that relatively innocent, sincere expression of amusement, than he would have been if he had grinned maliciously.

-Very well. Follow me- Riddle turned and continued down the corridor, at a faster rate than before.

Harry followed him up to two other stairways, as they ignored the dormitory. The second stairway was the oldest. The steps were worn out and the wood cracked under their shoes.

-Where are we going? - Harry asked, worried. Riddle placed the index on his lips, as if to say to be quiet.

Harry didn't know what to do. That wasn't expected. Was Riddle going to harm him before he could kill him? Perhaps he should have killed him right away. Pulled his shirt and thrown him down the stairs.

Riddle stopped in front of an old, wooden door. The knob was unscrewed, the door was held closed by a chain attached to a iron ring affixed in the wall. The head and the end of the chain were blocked by a lock.

Riddle pulled a small knife from his pocket.

-What's this room for? - Harry asked.

Riddle stared at him with compassion.

-It's an attic, Evans, what's wrong with you?

Harry didn't answer. He was too occupied on becoming red as a tomato. Why he was so embarrassed? He wanted to kill him, not to impress him. It was ok if he thought he was stupid, he would caught him off guard.

-Why the f…

- This is not important - Riddle shook his head - the important thing is that they cannot hear us.

Uh. Ok. Riddle was going to kill him or something and he didn't even bother to hide it. He could run away from him, he was a fast runner.

No, it was ok. He, Harry, was going to kill him first. He would have killed Riddle right away, the first day, before dinner, his parents would have been safe and Sirius too, and they would all have lived happily ever after.

-Come in- Riddle opened the lock and took off the chain.

Was he used to bully the other children this way? They waited patiently for him to drop the lock, and then they came inside the attic as he invited them to? That wasn't bullying. That was natural selection.

Harry went into the attic and Riddle followed him. He arranged the chain so it still seemed locked, and closed the door behind their back.

-Ok- Harry said - what are we gonna d--

Riddle pulled him closer and pressed his lips on Harry's. Harry froze. His mouth tasted like brown sugar and orange jelly. He had a dessert, thought Harry incoherently.

Frantic, Riddle’s long white fingers clung to his shirt, pulling them down his shoulders, as if to enlarge his collar. “As if”. His lips went down his jaw and pressed against his throat. A hot breath escaped Harry's mouth. What the hell was happening?

-No, no no no- Harry repeated, flustered, and pushed Riddle away grabbing his shoulders.

Riddle's lips were glistening from saliva, and were already red and plump. Why the fuck did he seem already erotic? No, wait, why the fuck was he erotic? Tom Riddle could not be like that. He was a monster. He wasn't human. And, and they didn't knew each other, Riddle was so mad even for human standards! Besides, he was a boy- he thought he was a muggle and he lured him up to the attic in order to sexually assault him.

-Riddle what the fuck!

- Rude - lamented Riddle, as he wiped his saliva from his chin with his pale, bony knuckles.

-Why did you… Are you mad or something? - that was a stupid reaction, but Harry felt so confused! It was like a bad dream, one of those dreams that starts in a normal way and then everything becomes absurd.

-The tour was boring, and I thought we could make out for a while- Riddle explained, as if it was completely normal.

- What? - Harry's voices rosed an octave.

Riddle smiled. That Witch's Weekly Magazines smile, not the mad smile - and Harry was terrified.

-Why not? I find you attractive. And you want me.

-... WHAT? - now Fat Lady would have envied Harry's voice.

- Yes! - Riddle insisted - the way you look at me. Don't be stupid, it's obvious.

Harry was speechless. The boy he was supposed to murder, the monster, the evil wizard of all the time…

Had entered the puberty.

A wild one, indeed.

I have to kill him, he repeated himself, as Riddle approached him and pushed him against the wall, but gently.

I seriously have to slaughter this slutty piece of shit, he thought, as he pulled Riddle closer to him to bite his sugary lips.

Too bad he was so handsome.

[seasonofthegeek]

Today’s drabble is for @obliviousblondesunite, @orion-regil, @quesbee to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY month! I hope you all have a fantastic November full of wonderful things! :D

“It’s not safe to be out after dark, you know.” Chat Noir gracefully slid down the tall gate he’d been perched on to meet Marinette on the sidewalk.

“Well, since dark begins so early now, you’ll have to excuse me for making such an error in judgement,” Marinette replied with a small smile. “But since I have the great Chat Noir looking out for me, what could possibly happen?”

“And what makes you think I was looking out for you?” He gave her a wide grin, eyes brightening.

“Because you’ve been following me since I left Alya’s house five minutes ago.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“It must’ve been some other guy with cute black cat ears then.” She smiled and held up the bag she was carrying. “I have leftover cookies if you’re interested.”

“Yes, please.” He happily took the bag and fell into step beside her as she began to walk again.

“Are you really going to walk me home?”

“Would you really deny me the pleasure?” he shot back before biting into one of the cookies with a content hum. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Actually I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Marinette tried to fight the stiffness she felt creeping into her shoulders. There was always something a little dangerous about talking to Chat Noir. She was sure she was going to let the wrong thing slip but she couldn’t deny it was nice to spend time with him like this. Sometimes it felt easier this way. “What’s up?”

He looked at little unsure for a moment before pasting on a smile that was a little too brilliant, a little too forced. “Well, you’ve probably noticed some new heroes popping up sometimes.”

“I have,” she answered carefully, leading them around the corner and closer to the bakery.

“Well, I...so Ladybug and I sometimes have to call on people we trust to help us. It’s just a temporary thing, but it’s always good to have a plan, you know?”

“You make plans?”

He stuck his tongue out. “It’s something I’m trying to work on.”

“Sure.” She kept her eyes ahead.

Chat Noir nodded. “Anyway I’ve been thinking of people I know and trust and honestly, you’re really close to the top of the list.”

Marinette blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Well, yeah.” He reached into the bag for another cookie and frowned when he didn’t find one. He tossed the paper bag into a trash can as they passed. “I guess I wanted to feel things out; see if that’s something you would be willing to do if we needed your help.”

“I...”

“You’re so smart and brave and I know you’d be great,” he continued quickly. “And it might not ever come up but I wanted to see how you felt about it because in the middle of a battle, it can be a bit much to get hit with.”

Marinette frowned. “I don’t know if I would be the best pick.”

“I know it sounds a little scary,” he admitted, stopping with her in front of her door. “And nothing has to happen right now. Honestly, I’ve been going back and forth about it in my head for a while now because while I think you would be fantastic, the thought of you out there fighting kinda gives me anxiety.”

She was torn between wanting to make an excuse as to why she couldn’t possibly be cut out for it to try to convince him and keep her identity safe and...

No. She couldn’t tell him she would. Obviously she would already be by his side as Ladybug. It would waste precious time if Chat Noir was running all over Paris to try to find Marinette to give her a Miraculous. The fact that he thought so highly of her though did make her feel warm and happy.

“Can I think about it?” she finally asked, meeting his eyes. The hope she saw blossom in them made her blush.

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded quickly a couple of times and took an awkward step back. “Sorry for springing it on you in the, uh, attempt not to spring it on you.”

“It’s fine really!”

“Because I thought I was doing a smart thing but now I’m not so sure it was a smart thing--”

“It’s just a lot to take in is all.”

They both stopped talking over each other with nervous laughter. 

Marinette gestured to the door. “I should probably get inside. My parents are expecting me.”

“Yeah, of course.” Chat Noir shifted on the balls of his feet as if he was ready to bound away at any moment.

In a quick movement, Marinette rose up on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for thinking so highly of me, Chat. I really appreciate it.” She caught a blush leaking out from beneath his mask as she let herself inside the building.

“Don’t mention it,” he murmured faintly, his hand coming up to touch his cheek.

Buy me a cherry coke?

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 5

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

—

Wednesday, April 3rd (continued)

Rose shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her.  Unable to sleep, she’d decided to watch the sun rise over the Alps.  Give the likely imminent collapse of Bad Wolf Matchmaking she would never have another opportunity, once she crawled home to her mum with her tail between her legs and accepted her fate of beans on toast, never to truly escape the Estate.

It had been sweet while it lasted.

Sniffling, she rested her chin on her knees.  In a fit of self-flagellation, she’d decided the best place to watch would be from the back patio, only a few yards away from where she’d been summarily fired.

The sky flared with color, pinks and oranges streaming from behind the mountains, and her heart clenched.  Must enjoy beautiful sunrises, she couldn’t help but add to her list of requisite qualities in the future queen.  It truly was spectacular, and for only a moment, it brought her peace as she watched the sun rise.  Birds were chirping in the forest surrounding the palace and gardens, the light reflected in the still lake.

This is heaven, she thought wistfully.

When the sun had fully cleared the Alps and the dawn well turned to day, she stood up and dusted herself off.  She’d packed almost everything the night before when she couldn’t sleep, but still had a solid two hours before the first train of the morning would leave.  Mel had been given strict instructions to pack everything, though Rose doubted she had – she seemed to think a miracle would occur and they would stay.

Rose had no such hope or expectation.

Turning to go back into the house, she gasped to find the King standing a few feet behind her, watching with his arms crossed.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured, sinking into a deep curtsey, biting her lip to keep it from trembling as she kept her head bowed.  What, does he want to yell at me some more before I leave? she thought petulantly.

“Miss Tyler.”  He cleared his throat, and she chanced a peek up to see him rubbing at the back of his neck.  The King opened and closed his mouth several times before sighing heavily. “We have a full day, so we might as well get on with it.  Will you join me for breakfast?”

Oh, now he wants to meet with me.  “I’m sorry, I must finish packing.  Thank you though,” she mumbled, not quite managing to mean it.  She didn’t know what kind of game he was trying to play, but she’d have none of it.  After being yelled at as she had, she had no energy left for another verbal beating – she’d get that soon enough from her mother, though Jackie’s would be peppered with I told you so’s, by tone if not words.

“Are you leaving?” he asked innocently, and Rose’s anger congealed, head snapping up to find him smirking slightly.

“What?”

The King shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets.  “You’re free to go if you want, but I thought you signed a contract.  Doesn’t look very good to duck out early.”

Straightening up, Rose studied him carefully in search of a trap.  At first glance, he didn’t look much like a king; more like a magician, or a uni professor.  An unzipped, black hooded sweatshirt gaped to show a Rolling Stones tee, layered over black and white plaid pants and black boots.  If she’d met him on the street, she might go so far as to wonder if he was homeless.

“I don’t understand.”

He groaned, rocking back on his heels slightly.  “Oh, don’t make me say it,” he whined, before twisting his lips into a grimace.  “Fine.  I’m sorry I yelled.  Will you stay?”  It was said with the air of a naughty preschool boy before forced to apologize to the girl he’d teased, and glancing behind him, Rose found Princess Donna and Sarah Jane peering out from the door.

Well, if he wanted her to stay, she was going to take the chance to set some terms.  “I have conditions.”

“Of course you fucking do.”  He waved his hand impatiently for her to get on with it.

“Full access, and you answer my questions open and honestly,” was her biggest one, and though he pulled a face, he nodded.  “You give me a fair chance to work.”  Another nod, and Rose dithered; those were her main concerns, but she felt she needed something else, something to not just surrender.  He might be King, but he wasn’t going to bully her.  “And, finally – you never speak to me that way again.”

“Deal.”  He held out his hand, and Rose stared blankly at it, unsure of what he wanted.  “Aren’t these sorts of things usually sealed with a handshake?”  His amused tone brought her out of her head, and she shook it firmly.

“Why?”

He seemed to understand what she meant, even if she didn’t.  “Because you were right – I love my country. And my sister.  And, maybe- if you repeat this I’ll deny it and sack you for real- maybe, the idea of a marriage and family like Donna’s got wouldn’t be the end of the world.  Perhaps, with the right woman, I might even find myself moved to embrace the idea.”

“Fair enough.”  A cool breeze blew across the patio and she shivered, pulling her blanket/shawl tighter around her shoulders.  “I have one last condition.”

“Oh, what now?”

“Tea.  Lots of tea.”

-

After a silent breakfast they parted ways, Donna to get her children up, Ian and Rose to prepare for a day of engagements.

As he dressed and Sarah reviewed his schedule, he let his thoughts drift to the young woman.  He’d seen the fire in her eyes when she spotted him this morning, recognized the initial flash of defiance before she capitulated to propriety.

Then, when he deigned to let her keep her job, she had the audacity to lecture him about his tone.  For the sour face he liked to put on, it was refreshing to have someone not so intimidated by the crown he (metaphorically) wore.  Sure, it silenced her tongue, but not her thoughts, which were so clearly written over her face.

It was a quality he hoped the wife she found for him would have, albeit with a more diplomatic bent than River had had.

He met her at the top of the stairs, and they awkwardly walked down to the entryway together, remaining in silence until they climbed into the car, Sarah already waiting there for them.

“Where are we going?” Rose asked, clearly torn between watching them and staring out the window, awe in her expression as they flew down the road.

“There’s a fountain opening, or something,” Ian replied, distracted.  She looked so amazed he wondered what she was seeing, when it all was perfectly normal and boring, the same as every other day of his life.

Sarah sighed, shaking her head fondly.  “The fountain in the main square is being dedicated to your grandmother, Queen Clarisse.”

“Right.”  Ian just shrugged; he barely remembered the woman, except for the time she’d yelled at Donna for getting a dress dirty.

“So, how does this work?” Rose asked, tearing herself away from the window as they went through the gates.  “You show up, give a speech?  Do a jig?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” his aunt sniggered, and he shot her a warning look.

“The mayor will give an introduction, I’ll say a few words of a prepared speech, a few pictures, snip the ribbon or whatever, then done.”

He glanced out the window, waving half-heartedly to a little girl who spotted him, though he couldn’t help grin slightly when she tugged enthusiastically on her mother’s sleeve before pointing in their direction.

“The King will usually stay for a few minutes to give his subjects a chance to speak with him,” Sarah consulted her diary as if she didn’t have every second of his day planned and memorized, “then it’s back to the palace for a call with Monaco, though I can’t allow you to sit in on that.  I’ve advised Mrs. Cooper – the cook – that you’ll be taking all meals together, except for any that are official state business.”

Ian stiffened, Rose doing so as well, but they arrived before either could respond.  Graham, his driver, opened the car door, and he decided to leave the subject be for the moment, climbing out and automatically offering his hand to Rose and Sarah.

The young matchmaker hesitated a moment before accepting, hand briefly squeezing his releasing.

All the way to his designated spot, he thought about how natural it had felt to hold her hand.

-

It was a small crowd, and Rose made a mental note to ask why the event was so poorly attended; did the Gallifreyan people not want to take an opportunity to see their king?  At home, hundreds would gather at a hospital or school or similar sort of event just for a chance of a glimpse.  Here, though, it sounded like they could shake the king’s hand or even speak to him for a moment, yet so few were present.  And half of them seemed to be reporters.

Standing at the back, she listened as he was introduced and shook hands with the mayor, before standing at the podium.  Rose was used to the royal family being the picture of poise and decorum, not to the monarch being dressed fairly casually and slouching over the podium, leaning his weight on it as though he were a uni professor giving a lecture.

The King pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, staring at it for a long moment before shrugging and putting it away.

“Some of you may remember my grandmother, Queen Clarisse,” he started fairly conversationally.  “Though it was my grandfather who was the crowned sovereign, there is no question that she was the one who ruled.”  The audience laughed softly and Rose grinned, tension easing.  “Together they brought us through the Second World War, keeping our country united and safe.  Even after the war was over she continued to fight, leading the charge to ensure that the children of the future, as they were then, or our parents to us today, grew up strong and brave, loyal and kind.  Educated. Principled.  Because of her, we are who we are today.  She was a wonderful queen, and I hope my future wife will do as she did and more.  Thank you.”

He stepped away from the podium, heedless of the titters and whispers that sparked at the word ‘wife’.  Rose watched curiously as he stopped to speak to the mayor again, before realizing that several of the spectators were looking in her direction, the more brazen ones pointing.

Fighting back a smile, she carefully eased her way through the crowd towards the King, and he broke off his conversation as she approached.

“What did you think?” he asked, and Rose was surprised at how close to genuine his tone was, as though he actually cared for her opinion.

“She sounds like a hell of a woman,” she grinned, letting her tongue peek between her teeth.

The King blinked, seeming slightly off kilter, and her smiled slipped away as he stammered, “Er, yes, she was.  Ahem.  Hell, and a hell of a woman.  Not much of a mother or grandmother, but an excellent queen.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Rose teased, relieved when he smiled.

“Except for me,” he shot back, “though I’m not sure my sister would agree.”

“Your Majesty?” the mayor cut in, and they glanced over to see him standing there awkwardly, several little old ladies behind him watching hopefully.  “A few of your subjects who remember the late Her Majesty wish to have their photograph taken with you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The King sighed but nodded, and was instantly swarmed by half a dozen gray-haired grannies; if they were forty years younger, the casual observer would think him a rock star.

“D’you mind, dearie?” one of the women poked Rose, handing over her mobile with the camera open.

“Of course.”

It took ten minutes to get all the pictures as each lady wanted their own of the group before they started doing individual shots, the King clearly growing uncomfortable with the attention.  Rose wondered briefly as she traded one smartphone for another if she should save him, but Sarah Jane was only a few feet away and watching with a smirk so she figured it was all right, even going so far as to brightly suggest a few more groupings for the pictures.

One of the women was more persistent than the rest, begging for one last one with his arm around her, which he granted – though as soon as Rose snapped the picture he honest to God yelped, practically leaping away from the rest.

“Right, terribly sorry, got to go,” he blurted, before all but running for the car.  She had the passing thought that he looked like a penguin with his ass on fire.

Rose managed to get the mobiles back to all the women and catch up to Sarah Jane before they caught each other’s eye, and began to howl with laughter.

Maybe this job won’t be so bad after all, Rose considered, shaking her head with amusement and heading for the Bentley, wishing she’d gotten the moment on camera.  It was something she wouldn’t soon forget, no matter how this turned out.